Bad To Be Good
by Dragon's Lover1
Summary: -AU- Roxanne is engaged to Metro Man. But one day, after Megamind nabs her for yet another plot, he's shocked to discover just how badly the "hero" has been treating her. Now it's time for the villain to save his damsel from the hero. -T for abuse-
1. The Truth

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

_Summary: -AU- Roxanne is engaged to the great hero, Metro Man. But one day, after Megamind nabs her for yet another plot, he's shocked to discover just how badly the "hero" has been treating her. . . Now it's time for the villain to save his damsel from the overbearing hero. _

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_**Bad To Be Good**_

_1. The Truth_

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If he had to look back and describe this day, he would call it the best and worst day of his entire life. The reason behind this is entirely centered on one person: Roxanne Ritchi, soon to be Roxanne Scott — provided she takes her fiancé's family name. The day began like any other, of course. A prison break leading to another plot of ultimate destruction that would, fates willing, obliterate Metro Man. Kidnapping the hero's wife-to-be was simply the bait to bring him around, lead him into a trap.

At least, that's what the super genius known as Megamind would say to anyone else. In secret, he revealed the truth to himself: he had a soft spot for the woman. She was beautiful and clever and never flinched, no matter what situation he put her in. She was tough, had a nose for his schemes, and the way she smirked at him. . .

Poetry in motion, that was the adage applied to such a woman. It hardly did her justice. She'd had his eye since he'd first spotted her in ninth grade. And though he looked away every so often, he kept getting drawn back to her. She was just so. . ._perfect._ For him, at least. She could (and often did!) call him out whenever he did something stupid. She would sometimes banter with him, other times be the more mature one and wait out the completion of his plan. She could tell him "no" despite her place as the damsel under his thumb.

And then her body! Her figure and the adorable freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, her robust curves and soft skin, her amused eyes and perfectly-sculpted lips. . .her hair. So thick and soft, the urge to run his fingers through it itched at him every time he glimpsed it. Not having hair himself, he wasn't sure how hers was always so lovely and shiny, but considering the multitudes of humans without half as much skill at caring for their own hair, he could guess it was a long, involved process that spanned years to perfect.

More often than not, she could guess ahead of time when he would come to kidnap her (or, alternately, send Minion to do so) and dress accordingly for the inevitable tabloid photos later on. Knowing this, he was surprised when Minion deposited her in the chair, hands and ankles bound by lengths of rope. This was because she wasn't wearing anything stylish. Her ensemble today consisted of grey sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt — one of Metro Man's, probably.

Megamind felt a surge of jealousy then. It helped a little to think that she would look so much better in _his_ clothes. They'd fit better, anyway, instead of hanging loosely from her shoulders.

Minion waved to get his attention, miming with his robotic hands that something was up. When Megamind motioned back to get on with it, Minion pulled off the bag. His eyes showed he didn't know what to think, and that alone sent Megamind to worry.

Well, her hair was a mess, she seemed to be lacking any makeup (not that she needed it, with her brand of natural beauty), but the thing that sent a red flag rising was the fact that her head was bowed. Her breathing was a little ragged - not out of fear, not Roxanne; she was never afraid of him and his schemes. Not that he'd ever tried to scare her, exactly. The whole "danger" subplot was only meant to impress her, to make her think that he did a genuinely bad job as the villain (in a _good_ way).

Confused, he came closer instead of introducing himself in a grandiose manner as he did every other time. As he neared, he noticed how her hair was hanging down, completely covering her right eye. That was odd; he'd never seen her allow her hair to break form like that before.

". . .Miss Ritchi?" he started, tentative. This reminded him of one another kidnapping, during which she'd been on the verge of tears for the entire ordeal. It turned out the reason why was because both her parents had been killed in a car accident just two days prior, and she had still been in mourning.

He'd felt so bad, forcing her into another dangerous situation so soon after such a tragedy, that he'd forgone kidnapping her for two months after. He supposed he could have nabbed her sooner than that, but every time he'd considered it, his mind had warned him that it was still too soon after the accident. The last thing he wanted was to force her into a mental breakdown - her! Roxanne Ritchi, object of his adoration and desire. No, no, no; this woman was to never have her mental state put in danger. He respected and valued her mind too much to see it break.

Which was the exact reason why he approached her with so much caution now.

She turned a little away from him, further hiding that shielded eye as she did so, when he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He longed to, in truth - but he couldn't let himself. First and foremost, because he always feared she would just snap at him about how he didn't have the right (she didn't know how right she was. . .) and second, because he had no idea what was wrong with her. Which meant, in turn, that he had no idea how she would react to it.

She hadn't answered his query. In fact, she was nothing like her usual spunky self, tough and unyielding and just a little bit amused by his antics.

"Miss Ritchi," he said again, stronger this time. No longer a question; now a demand. He wanted her attention.

No response was given.

He sent a glance to Minion, who hiked up his furry shoulders, lifting his hands in an empty gesture. Then she took a deep breath, shuddering on the inhale, then blew it out.

Odd. He reached back for his chair, drawing it closer to sit down where he was, almost knee-to-knee with her. Her shoulders drooped as she lowered her head further. _Hiding_ from him. The motion struck him as so distinctly _wrong_ that he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to grasp her chin, lifting her head. Where was all her — oh.

_Oh._

. . .Oh, _no._

Though her hair still covered her eye well, it couldn't completely hide the discoloration high on her cheekbone, spreading to her eye socket a bit. It was an ugly mark, swelling purple with blotches of blue and red speckled into it. It looked like a perverse mock-up of her cute freckles. He hated the sight of it instantly - it was so _wrong_ on her.

So shocked was he that he spoke without thinking.

"What happened to you?"

She gave a snort that lacked any kind of humor, pulling out of his grip in the process. Once more she dropped her chin, looking pointedly at the ground as she answered, "As if you care."

That stung. He _did_ care. He made an effort not to appear as if he did, but. . .surely she must _know_? She saw through him with such ease, how could she not see it?

"Miss Ritchi," he said now, making the effort again and pretending nonchalance, "I believe I asked you a question."

A strangled laugh was his answer. It irritated him. . .but then, he supposed he'd never given her any reason to see fit to confide in him. She just didn't know him as well as he'd have liked. He would never judge her, never mock her, never make fun of her pain. It was only the same courtesy she gave him, after all. Since ninth grade, she had never made fun of him or mocked him or joined in when everyone else was laughing at him.

Hers was always the only pair of eyes in the crowd that _watched_ him, paying attention, laughing _with_ him and never _at_ him. She was one of very few individuals who had shown him kindness. And most of her kindness had come from the fact that she'd generally kept away from him, talking with him when he spoke to her but otherwise letting him be. Those eyes saw the things he did, the creations he'd made with his superior intellect.

Those eyes. . .that were currently swimming in wetness and looking _down_.

_Never._ Being careful to avoid her obvious wound, he pulled her face back up. _Look me in the eyes, Roxanne,_ he pled with her, calling her the name he only ever dared in his own mind.

She closed her eyes, denying his request. His jaw tightened in irritation - and then his eyes traveled further down, to her neck. There, too, on the left side. . .discoloration. Not as much swelling, the marks just an angry mottled red. But it had the clear outline of a large palm.

_No._ He couldn't believe this, even as his mind made the connections.

It had to be Metro Man. If anyone else laid a hand on her, Metro Man would have hunted him down and made him pay for harming her. The fact that she looked like she was strangling her own words down, hiding her gaze, instead of burning with vengeance or relaxed in the after-effects. . . It could only have been the one person she couldn't get vengeance against.

"Miss Ritchi," he ground out past the angry words stuck in his teeth, "tell me what happened."

Her eyes opened now, and that single motion started a tear down her cheek. His heart tore open to see it on _her_ face. And then she was saying, "No. I'm not telling you anything."

Well, there was the strength he'd been waiting for. But it was still wrong; he needed her to trust him, to tell him. She had no reason to, he reminded himself; he repeatedly put her in life-threatening situations. That didn't matter anymore. Just seeing her bruised and broken like this was enough to change his entire outlook. _No one_ hurt Roxanne and got away with it. And if Metro Man was the one hurting her, then he would be damned if he didn't become the one who avenged her.

He couldn't have stopped himself then - he lifted his other hand, cupping her face with the lightest touches he could manage. Slowly, carefully, he brushed her bangs back to take a better look at her bruise. Those blue eyes watched him as he took stock of it, winced, and allowed the hair to fall into place again.

"Don't laugh," she hissed, her tone strong but quiet. Fear and pain filled her eyes. She was _afraid _he would laugh at her.

"Never," he answered, shocked to hear how rough his voice sounded. Doing his best at controlling himself, he put all the truth he could into his tone as he went on, "I would never laugh at your pain, Roxanne." For a moment, there was a flicker of life in her blue orbs, but then it died out again. _Sinking to the depths of a sea of despair._ He wouldn't stand for this. "Who did this to you?" he demanded. "Was it Metro Man?"

At the name of his rival, she reared back with a strangled sob, escaping his grasp once again. "Metro Man!" she echoed, her eyes sparking back to life. It scared him to see. She looked like she was losing her mind.

_No, no, no — not you, never you. You're stronger than this!_

"Talk to me, Roxanne!" he said, capturing her shoulders since her head kept evading him. The use of her name seemed to strike a cord in her.

"_Talk_ to you?" she threw back at him. "To _you?_ Why? So you can make fun of me?" Before he could deny her claim, she was going on. "So you can laugh at how horrible my taste in men is?" Her voice rose with every word. "How very _wrong_ I was with picking him? Well, here's news for you! I _didn't_ pick him! He picked _me!_ I know a mistake when I make one — when it slaps me across the face, even!"

_Slaps you across the face?_ his mind repeated. Metro Man _slapped_ her? He heard himself growling as he queried, "Metro Man slapped you?"

She scoffed, settling a little. "Not this time. This," she turned her head to display the glaringly obvious wound on her face, "was a tap. He was just trying to turn my head. But when you have as much strength as he does. . ." She trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken. "Now go ahead. You have your answer. _Laugh_ at me." It was almost a challenge, but also a plead to not do as she requested.

"Does this happen often?" he asked, ignoring her demand. The very idea that she was abused _often_ by the self-proclaimed "hero" disturbed him greatly. Had she been suffering in silence since Prom almost a decade prior, when she and Scott officially got together? "How much has he been hurting you?"

Suspicion filtered into her expression — but left her eyes much untouched. The blue there looked darker than her natural shade now. Truly _dead_. A lump crowded his throat. She answered with a quiet, "What is this?"

"Tell me what he's been doing to you!" he snapped, too riled by his thoughts to ask nicely.

"When did you start to care?" she demanded, tossing his concern aside.

"I have _always_ cared for you!" he shot back. He regretted his words instantly, but after a moment. . .stopped. No, he didn't regret this admission. She'd missed his signals for the fourteen years they'd known each other. He refused to regret telling her now. Especially if it could help her recover.

Her eyes widened at his words. Her lips parted. Silence stretched between them. After a moment, Minion shifted, making the only noise in the tiny monitor room of the lair. Everyone was stunned.

Megamind sat back after the silence began growing uncomfortably long. He didn't release her, rather he allowed his hands to slide down to her elbows. He had the distinct desire to untie her. Before he could do so, however, she spoke up.

"If this is some kind of trick, I will make you pay," she warned.

Still she didn't trust him. He couldn't blame her for that. "No trick," he replied. He edged closer in his rolling chair, reaching behind her. He was so close to her as he did this that he could smell her clearly. No perfume today, he noted. She hadn't been devoid of perfume since she was sixteen. . .

As he untied the ropes and tossed them aside, he noticed that she wasn't breathing. Not until he had drawn back. She massaged her wrists absently, though he knew it wasn't out of pain, her eyes finally gaining some emotion: distrust. He tried to ignore it as he pulled her feet up to the edge of his chair so he could untie them as well.

"Uh. . .sir?" Minion wondered, his tone asking the question.

He didn't answer, deciding then that this was all wrong. Not just today's developments, but everything he'd ever done concerning Roxanne. With gentle movements, he replaced her feet on the floor after he'd removed the ropes. For a long moment after, he couldn't bring himself to look up. Silence, again, pierced them all. Somewhere in the lair, a few brainbots were "talking".

". . .Okay," she said at last, causing him to catch her gaze. "This isn't a trick. But then, what is this?"

He could see how confused she was. And she wasn't the only one. He felt lost, too; dizzy, unsure what to do. A glance at Minion showed his fish friend was in no better a state.

"This," he answered at length, "is me being honest. With you." She didn't reply, so he went on. "And this is me asking you to be honest with me. Will you do that?"

"Why should I?" she asked, no less suspicious than before. "Are you after secrets or something?"

"No. I. . ." He paused, took a breath, continued. "If he's hurting you, you need to leave him. For your own safety."

A tiny fire lit in her eyes. She bit out, "You think I haven't thought about that?"

"Then why are you still engaged to him?" he demanded.

"Because I'm not nearly stupid enough to break up with him!"

"There have got to be better prospects out there — if a man is all you're after —"

"Don't be an idiot," she hissed. "Think about this logically. If he can bruise me so easily just by trying to make me look in a certain direction, what do you think he could do to me if I told him off? I'm as powerless as a rag doll against him." Her eyes turned bleak at the thought.

_Point taken._ "You're not powerless, Miss Ritchi. You're brilliant. And you _know_ you must be if I'm the one admitting it," he stressed. "You can get yourself away from him."

"Brilliance doesn't do much if my head is crushed in," she ground out.

"Then what other options do you have?" he demanded.

"Few," she sneered. "Mainly. . .I guess I'm going to have to just marry him. Or hope he gets tired of me." She gazed away again.

_Damn it._ She shouldn't feel as if she should look away. Avoiding any discomfort on her part, he turned her face back up, fingers curving around her jaw. He eyed each digit to make sure none of them grazed her bruise. "It. . .doesn't have to be that dire," he tried. He wasn't sure what to say to make it all better, but he could recall a dozen books that declare the incredible power of comfort to someone in pain. Would his words help?

She shook her head, pulling his hand away. "Oh, really?" she replied, sarcastic - and miserable. "And I suppose you have a way out for me?"

There was an idea. He considered it, even as a part of him marveled at the fact that she yet had a hold of his hand. Fear that she would let go kept him from drawing any attention to the member, leaving it still.

_Could_ he get her out of her relationship with Metro Man? Not by simply sending a strongly-worded letter, of course. But what else could he do? Killing the man was proving more impossible with each failed attempt. Regardless. . .he felt as if she _needed_ him to help her. A part of him seized onto the idea that he could win her if he did things right - another part of him sneered at himself for hoping for such a thing. Not because it was ridiculous, but because of the reasons behind it. He couldn't do this because it would win her. He needed to do it because she needed _him_ to do it.

Whether or not she realized it, she was now relying on him for his aid. For her. . . Yes. For her, he would do everything in his power.

Now he said, "Minion." When Minion replied that he was listening, he continued, "We're pulling out all the stops this time. No more playing games." He met the fish's eyes. "We need to kill him."

For a moment, Minion looked too shocked to follow orders. And then his eyes darted to Roxanne, and he nodded. For a fish, he was remarkably intuitive and caring. Until today, he'd only shown care for Megamind. Now, Roxanne was a part of them. Minion accepted her presence with grace, attending to the plans via the computer next to him.

Megamind met her gaze again. Her eyes were on Minion for a second longer before she looked back to him.

"I knew it," she murmured.

He had the distinct feeling that she was trying to distract herself - which was a good thing, he figured, so he played along. "Knew what?"

"That you never really tried to kill him before."

"_Defeat_ sounded as pleasing to the ear," he explained. "And provided I got good at it, I could say I defeated him repeatedly — instead of killing him just once."

"A sound plan," she allowed.

He edged closer, rolling perhaps an inch. Lowering his voice and leaning in, he said, "Now, Roxanne, I want you to answer me."

Her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in remembered agony. "Answer what?" she prodded.

"How long has he been doing this to you?" Though he'd intended to say these words with a gentle tone, they came out harsh. He had never hated Metro Man more than he did now.

For a moment, it was as if she didn't know how to answer, or couldn't force the words out. Her jaw worked, she shook her head, her fingers clasped his tightly. . . And then she started to cry, the tears escaping in a rush.

He panicked. Roxanne Ritchi did _not_ cry. The fact that she was now — plus the tear that he'd seen earlier — only proved what he feared: that she'd been abused long and hard. And that was _not_ acceptable. As he floundered, trying to think up something to say or do while clutching her hand like a lifeline, he noticed something else.

She wasn't sobbing. She was making no noise whatsoever. The tears were. . .silent. That felt even more wrong, somehow. Didn't people usually get obnoxious and loud when they cried? Especially so while they cried as much as she was?

"_Roxanne_," he breathed, his brilliant mind offering no solutions to this newest problem. His free hand sought out her elbow, her shoulder, her cheek; searching for some place to give comfort. He could think of nowhere acceptable. He felt. . .useless. First for not even noticing how she'd been hurt all these years, and now for being unable to fix it.

Her grip tightened further, pinching his fingers together. It hurt, but he didn't care. If she needed to wring his fingers into spaghetti, then so be it. _Anything for her. _Everything_ for her._

Then, in a sudden, quick move that caught him unaware, she lunged forward. Her arms wound around his middle, almost crushing him from the strength she was exerting. Her face pressed into his chest.

He was shocked, though his arms lifted of their own accord to hold her. Before he touched her, however, he eyed the spikes on his gloves with disdain. _Oh, no._ They had to go. For as long as was necessary. He stripped them off, remembering his shoulder pads as he did so, and removed that as well. _Then_ he deemed himself in a harmless enough state to hold her.

She burrowed in closer when his arms went around her, one hand cupping the back of her head. In an odd way, this felt nice; he had her in his arms, and his fingers were at long last learning the texture of her hair. It just felt so terrible to him that something so horrible had to cause it. Why couldn't it have been something like desire that pulled her to him? Why couldn't it have been love?

She surprised him when she ground out, "Ah, God, why couldn't it have been you. . ?"

So close were the words to his thoughts that he wondered if some psychic mind-reading was going on between them. Then he pushed that idea away and focused on her. "Me. . ?" he prodded.

"I hate him. So much," she hissed out. Her words were surprisingly coherent for the state she was in, shaking like a leaf with tears soaking his shoulder one by one.

He could hardly believe his ears. But then, so far the entire encounter with her had been thus. "Are you. . . Are you saying you would have. . .preferred. . .having me and not him?"

"_Yes!_" she cried, with no hesitation. He was dumbfounded. She reared back at last, anger lacing her voice as she snapped, "I don't want to see anyone who remotely looks like him right now. Can you. . .can you hold off the plan for a while?" Her eyes pled with him. "Taking into account 'what ifs'. . . I don't want to see him so soon."

It wasn't 'what ifs' when it happened every time, he figured. It was pattern recognition. He couldn't deny that so far, the pattern had always been simple: he raises hell, Metro Man comes, they fight, he loses and gets sent back to prison. Still, the fact that she even offered the "what if" warmed him a little. She may not have any faith in his ability to actually kill the white-clad hero, but she was hoping he could. She wanted an end.

Which he would provide if it was the last thing he did.

"It'll take time to set up everything as it is," he agreed, reaching over to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks — _careful of her bruise_. "So, yes. You won't be seeing him soon."

She caught both his hands then, as his fingers lingered over the freckles he so adored. She didn't remove them, just held them. It made him freeze. So long he'd gone without touching anyone skin-to-skin, and now here he was, his bare hands on the very same woman he'd desired since before he thought he _could_ desire a woman. He swallowed.

Slowly, so slowly, she closed her eyes, then began moving her hands — drawing his fingertips across her cheek, her nose, her lips. . . His breathing turned ragged. She sucked in a wavering breath.

"Wayne was the first boy to ever kiss me," she murmured, reverting to Metro Man's given name. "And he bruised my lip every time."

Searing jealousy rent through him. He _hated_ that fact — that Wayne had been the first and only one to ever kiss her. Megamind wished it were him. More so now, after hearing how even their kisses had harmed her. _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ his mind chanted. Did Metro Man just not care that he kept hurting her? That even his shows of affection left her with wounds to nurse?

That made him wonder: had _he_ been indirectly causing some of her pains? It stung to consider, but he forced himself to think it. By putting her in these situations where Metro Man had to carry her to save her, had he been giving her more bruises?

It was much harder to swallow now. He said, "Roxanne — tell me. Have I been. . ." He broke off, struggled with the words. She looked at him, and a slight motion from one of them — he didn't know which — dragged his fingertip across her lip again. It caught his feeble attention, making him focus entirely on that pink curve of flesh. Oh, he desired her. Every last bit of her.

"You're so. . .different," she observed. "I never expected your skin to be so soft. It's so much better. . ." She trailed off, her eyes going far away.

He soaked up the compliment. _Better,_ she'd said. She didn't have to finish her thought for him to know what she meant. _Better than Wayne._ It didn't matter that she'd ignored his unfinished query. It could wait.

And then, with tears filling her eyes again, she repeated, "Why couldn't it have been you?"

"No — no, don't cry, Roxanne," he breathed, moving his hands to cup her face — again, he reminded himself to be careful of her bruise. "It doesn't matter that it wasn't me before." He still didn't know exactly what she meant by that. "I'm here now. Please, Roxanne, I'm here. If you need me, I'm here."

The tears came anyway — seemed to have been egged on by his words. She forced out the word "you" several times, then leaned closer. He fully expected her to latch onto him like she'd done before. . .but she didn't. Her aim was higher, her arms going around his neck. For a moment they were both moving in awkward jerks, and then she was in his lap and her lips were on his.

He didn't care what her reasoning was anymore, or if it was because of a _lack_ of reason. The fact was that she was sitting in his lap, willingly, and kissing him. He closed his eyes, lifted his hands to hold her, and returned the light, tentative pressure of her lips. Every second was bliss, punctuated by the repeated word "careful" in his mind. His hands moved, roving her back, skirting her two bruises and - sadly - discovering three more by her flinches and tiny squeaks of pain. The new wounds were added to the _off-limits_ section in his mind. He avoided them as if his life depended on it.

He completely forgot about everything else. The brainbots in the lair, Minion working on the plot, Metro Man's inevitable discovery of the lair. He had Roxanne _in his lap_; what else was there? His face felt wet from her tears, but they didn't seem so bad like this. It was more like the tears were part of her healing, as was the kissing. She needed both, so he'd be damned before he stopped her.

It didn't take long for him to notice the complete silence on her part. Like before, the only sound she made was her breathing - and now, the little _smack-smack_ sounds their lips made as they met again and again. He heard himself giving tiny groans and grunts, his verbal approval of the turn of events. Yet she made no sounds. It was starting to disturb him. Enough so that he took a turn with the way things were going, adding more pressure to the kisses.

He wasn't sure what to do and what not to do, so he stuck with what felt natural. When she came back for another meeting, he captured her bottom lip between his, pulled on it very gently. A dab with his tongue made her shiver, so he did it again, beginning to suck on the lip he'd caught.

At last, she made a noise: a tiny _uh_ sound on an inhale. The sound both pleased him and surprised him. Clearly he'd done something right; _how_ had he even managed to do something right? This was the first time he'd ever kissed _anything_, yet it seemed he was pretty good at it. Emboldened by her quiet reaction, he kept it up, pulling whatever tricks came to mind and studying her feedback to them.

And then it hit him: somehow, he'd won her. All the years he'd spent trying to impress her with the destructive creations of his mind were — well, not _wasted_, but pointless. It hadn't been his intellect that had won her over (though he was still arrogant enough to say it played a part). It had been his trust, honesty and compassion. He'd known he was in love with her for the past few years, had admitted that truth to himself. With this. . .maybe she knew, too. The thought didn't scare or upset him. It _pleased_ him. After all, if she was aware of how he felt about her, then she would know exactly how serious he was about this situation.

He would do whatever it took to save her. If it included destroying the entire city, so be it. Nothing else mattered anymore except her safety.

Minion chose then to ask for input, and when Megamind gave no response, his metallic feet carried him closer, to peer around the chair. He gave a surprised shriek at the sight - _what a sight we must be._

Roxanne reacted to the cry by jerking herself back. _Way to go, Minion,_ he thought with disdain. She looked so shocked, as if her world had just turned inside-out and she recognized nothing. He caught himself holding his breath, scared that she might realize she'd made a mistake (_when it slaps me across the face_) and never let it happen again. Awaiting judgment. Sitting in the "defense" seat at court had never been this harrowing. His heart was on the line, about to be either saved or destroyed, he didn't know which.

Either way, he promised himself, Metro Man dies. Even if she broke his heart, he would still be loyal to her.

And then the corner of her mouth twitched, lifted. It took a long time, but she smiled. _At him._ Her eyes were still watery and red-rimmed from crying, but gaining life again. The streaks down her cheeks shined, and instead of looking sad or painful, the way the tears glittered suddenly looked beautiful. Her smile was _magic_, plain and simple. Before now, he'd never believed in such a thing.

Still, he reached up, deciding that no matter how pretty they were, tears had no place on her. He wiped them away with light touches, using the backs of his fingers when the fronts were coated.

She caught his hands again, squeezing her eyes shut. Though her eyes read pain, her smile grew, until he wasn't sure what she was feeling anymore. Almost to herself, she murmured, "You are so much better. . ."

He puzzled over why she would say that for a moment — and then realized. . . It was the contrast. Wayne Scott couldn't touch her without hurting her, whereas he had been avoiding causing her any pain. Wayne's kisses bruised her lovely lips; his were as gentle as he could manage. Wayne made her cry. . .he was brushing away her tears.

If she needed any further proof of his feelings. . .

"I would never hurt you," he said now, partly aware that Minion was still privy to this, awaiting his answer. "You know that. You have _always_ known that."

She looked up, and he was pleased to see the pain vanish from her expression. She looked so lovely now, with her smile wide and her eyes still shining. But it wasn't just her smile that rocked his world sideways, disbelieving the truth before him because it couldn't be possible. It was the sight of his hands on her cheeks, of her fingers intertwined with his. Peach and blue. So _different_. They weren't the same species, not exactly. But he loved her and cherished her and valued her existence more than anyone else's.

He didn't know what she was seeing as she stared at him. So he did his best showing the depth of his emotions for her, in his eyes and face. It was difficult, to say the least — opening himself up like this, leaving him vulnerable. But, he reasoned, if it was for _her_. . .

". . .Sir?" Minion ventured, tentative. He obviously didn't want to interrupt, but needed an answer all the same.

Breaking her gaze was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He looked over at Minion, still hyper aware of his hands — more so when he felt her start to pass her lips over his knuckles. "What is it, Minion?" he forced out, torn between the two.

"The. . .the calibration is still an issue. I thought I had it perfect," Minion explained with an apologetic gesture, "but with the new parameters it's not aligning."

The additional lethality of the traps _would_ cause it to screw up, he supposed. He sighed, then regrettably retrieved his hands. "I'm sorry about this, Roxanne," he said as he ushered her out of his lap, "but this is going to need my full attention." She nodded in understanding as she seated herself. "Minion," he added, "attend to her until I call for you."

"Oh, of course, sir," Minion agreed, edging closer to her.

He turned to the computers and monitors then, bringing up the coding for each of the individual traps. His mind had them dissected in no time — Minion had _no idea_ just how off they were now. With a sigh at all the time he was going to lose with Roxanne, he started to work, fingers flying over the controls. Three separate keyboards were off to the side, and when he wasn't making much progress, he hooked up all three. And, he would admit later, he had never been so fast or precise with the coding.

Then again, he'd never had a reason to be - before.

* * *

Note: The name "Wayne" I got from Sevandor1. I wasn't so fond of the use of "Mark" but I wasn't coming up with any good names for him myself. Wayne, however, I like, so I yanked it. Which, apparently, is also the name he was given during the original script. That makes it sort of his official unofficial name, so spread it around, kiddies. Share the knowledge.

Be kind with your reviews, please. This idea struck me out of nowhere and refused to leave me alone, so I had to write it. The dialogue is a little different than the original scene in my head, but I still like it. The title — "Bad To Be Good" — fits so well I'm shocked at myself for coming up with it. I can think of three separate meanings behind it, and all of them are so applicable, I don't know which one works best.

Next chapter: Metro Man comes to 'rescue' his bride-to-be.


	2. Saved And Damned

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_2. Saved And Damned_

* * *

From the outside, her life looked ideal. Perfect. Immaculate. At times she allowed herself to believe it. But then there were times when it felt like the ninth circle of hell. It was such a huge contrast that she was often left dazed, wondering to herself, _"Where is the sanity?"_

It began in high school, tenth grade — though she'd known both boys existed since the previous year. The entire school had been well aware of the two alien eccentrics attending classes with the rest of the teenage populace. Roxanne was no different. She saw them, watched them, like everyone else. Back then, they were known as Blue and Wayne, though Wayne had began calling himself Metro Guy. But she'd always been a thinker, the one who delved behind the scenes and looked closely at what was waiting there. She watched and she deduced their motives. And, in truth, she was impressed with both of them.

The rest of the school, however, had her disdain. Because as she watched, she also saw how easily corralled her schoolmates were. If Blue tripped and Wayne laughed, the entire school laughed with him. If Blue smashed a window and Wayne struck him, the school would pelt him with whatever they had in their hands. If Blue flooded the gym during basketball practice and Wayne decided his punishment should be to dry the entire gym using a toothbrush, the school would watch.

It pained her to see it. That was _unfair._ Yes, he acted out, and yes, he often deserved to be punished for it, but that didn't make public humiliation _okay_. Wanting to put an end to it, she began getting Wayne's attention.

First she got a hair cut. Her hip-length brunette locks gone, now short and flirty and mature. She stopped wearing her glasses except when necessary (the prescription was weak enough that she didn't _need_ them anyway). She started wearing skirts that hugged her generous curves, though she'd always been shy about them. She started speaking to him, leaving hints and flirts to gain his attention. And when he started giving it, she began manipulating him.

_Cut the head off the snake. . ._

This was her mercy. By distracting Wayne before he could dish out punishments, she saved Blue a lot of torment. To this day, she wasn't sure he knew that was why she hung onto Wayne like she had. When the large boy had asked her out on a date, she felt obliged to give it. And then she began manipulating him more.

She saw his strengths, saw how he was misusing them. She urged him to use control, and was pleased when she saw him start to listen. She was proud of herself, and of him, to watch his progress. He was never much of a thinker, sadly, but she pushed aside that fact to focus on what she now had in her hands. She guided him, and while she never considered herself his "girlfriend", their proximity and time together garnered her the title. This, however, had no effect for the longest time.

Until an angry pack of females had her cornered. She recognized the girls, had known all seven of them since grade school. They were all pretty and blonde except for one black-haired beauty. They were "those girls", the ones who had more dates than anyone else in school. And they were pissed at Roxanne Ritchi for having landed Metro Guy.

For a while, their attentions were negative but thin. They would pull her hair when she walked by or whisper the word "bitch" as they passed _her_. For the most part, she ignored them. They were bullies and lacked the guts to confront her one-on-one. Bullies who were also cowards; who would have guessed?

After a full year of this, during which she focused solely on her schoolwork and molding Wayne into the hero she wanted him to be, the girls went the extra mile. They cornered her, literally, on the schoolyard, by backing her into the building. Seeing no way out, she'd glared at them all and waited for them to give up and leave. She was so confident that they _would_ give up and leave, once they determined she wasn't afraid, that she was shocked down to her core when one girl reached out and scratched her across the face.

In a daze, her first thought had been denial. But when the girls all began shouting vile things, yanking off her backpack to scatter her books and work, then set in to slap her around, she began to realize that this was the repercussion of being the "girlfriend" of the immensely-popular Metro Guy. Her first spoken response to the demands to leave Metro Guy alone were claims that she was not his girlfriend. They'd never kissed, only ever dated once. They weren't a couple.

The females bearing down on her didn't listen. So she did the next thing she could think of: she called for help. "Wayne" was the first word out of her mouth, and she screamed it for all she was worth. Not a second had passed and he was there, declaring his presence by yelling at the girls to _back away_. He swooped in like the hero she wanted him to be, picking her up. With a lingering glare at the interlopers, he zipped off for the infirmary, deposited her there, and returned a moment later with her backpack and items.

It wasn't until she was sitting on the bed, holding her backpack, that she noticed several things about the last few minutes. A lot of them were insignificant things she just hadn't noticed, such as the red-tipped fingernails the girl who'd clawed her had or the pink plaid design of the lead girl's skirt. But two stood out. First, that she ached on her back and thighs. Consulting a mirror showed the outline of hands in both places, and she realized Wayne's take off had caused too much pressure to her sensitive skin. Second, Blue had been in the background.

It wasn't that he was _there_ that surprised her; she noticed him often and the schoolyard had been full of kids. What surprised her was that she could now remember him heading for her when the abuse began. He'd frozen solid when Wayne had showed up, however, then turned a vicious glare to the girls once she'd been safely lifted from the line of fire.

She knew it then. Regardless of whether or not he knew why she'd originally gone to such lengths to gain Wayne's attention, he liked her. From then on, whenever she noticed him, she would scrutinize him. And in the meantime, she spent her off time with Wayne almost exclusively. After telling him how he'd bruised her, he'd looked shocked at himself, promising in earnest to control his strength better in the future. She believed him.

Stupidly.

For a while, everything was fine. From then until graduation, he was much more careful, to the point where he only accidentally hurt her three times. She brushed them off as true accidents, believing in his sincere apologies. What she didn't realize during these apologies was that he was speaking with a depth of emotion she'd never heard. In fact, she'd had no idea he truly _liked_ her until Prom.

He asked her to Prom with his usual confident flair, and since she had no other prospects, she'd agreed. During Prom itself, she had a chat with Blue, ran into the still-repentant gaggle of girls who'd once abused her, and to her complete surprise, she was voted Prom Queen. A shock, really, because she hadn't even chosen to run. But it seemed Metro High chose its queen. She wasn't at all surprised when Wayne was voted king, though. And at the crowning, he asked her to go steady with him.

It was at that exact moment that she realized where she stood in the world. A huge epiphany opened up before her, and she was helpless against its truths. The first and foremost was where she stood in the school itself. Despite being a bit of a geek who got straight A's, she'd also been voted Prom Queen. She looked at herself anew and saw herself from the eyes of others, realizing only then just how beautiful she could be. Beauty _and_ brains was so rare, she should have known she'd be coveted like a lost treasure. She never wanted the attention, but she could hardly control that now.

She was envied and desired on all fronts, and who could resist when the strongest man on the planet held up her hand, kissed it, and asked with all the sincerity in the world to be his official girlfriend? She couldn't. At the very least, she determined it would be an experience to behold, even if they ended up parting ways. And a part of her felt obliged to be with him. She'd spent almost two years being close to him, urging him to believe in justice and be selfless. She was his best friend, and he really, truly seemed to love her.

But somehow, during their dance and the rest of the night following, her eyes kept getting drawn back to Blue. She had pitied him from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him, knowing how he stuck out in a crowd and anticipating the prejudice he'd be forced to endure. She couldn't blame him for acting out, knowing that. She considered it his way of venting frustrations and anger.

Tonight he was wearing a tux like every other boy in school, sitting next to his "date", also known as the "exchange student". How no one else connected the dots about the fish swimming around in the "head" of a robotic gorilla suit, she'd never understand. She saw the pair, saw Blue's pained eyes, and realized with a sharp stab that he had no one. He was _that boy,_ the one who brought his cousin to Prom because he couldn't find a date. She had just decided to go invite him to dance with her when the inevitable happened.

This would be the _second_ time he flooded the gym, and though she expected some sort of monumental prank to end the festivities, she hadn't expected to get soaked through. It was then that she came to understand another fact: while she may pity his lot in life, ultimately, she _hated_ his pranks. It soured her mood, ruined her dress, and spoiled her desire to offer him a pity dance. She took a little vindictive satisfaction in the shocked look on his face, though, realizing that his plan must have gone off premature. Like everyone else in the gym, he was sopping wet.

She had _just_ enough mercy left in her to stop Wayne before he could pummel the too-smart-for-his-own-good alien, suggesting instead that he take Blue back to prison — where he belonged.

That last bit was just her temper shining through, but at the time she meant it. She wouldn't come to regret the way she'd scorned him until ten years later, when she needed him more desperately than she'd ever needed Wayne.

In the years between, she would teeter between being completely overcome with how much Wayne seemed to adore her, and her fear at his steadily-loosening inhibitions. More and more frequently, his hand would slip, and she would sport another bruise for a few days. He was so torn up about it, though, that she couldn't stay mad at him. At times he would beg — _beg_ — for her to forgive him. His pleas were always so earnest that she simply couldn't resist. Though, as time went by, she began noticing that their relationship was ending, she didn't want to crush him, so she waited for him to see it too.

That patience with him was her biggest regret.

After graduation came college. Wayne didn't attend, but neither did Blue. She went to college out of town, too, so she wasn't around when the two began fighting in the streets. She read the news articles with amazement and amusement, surprised at how much fun both men seemed to take in what was clearly a game of citywide destruction. When Wayne came to visit her, she asked for stories, and he threw in his personal storytelling flair free of charge. At the end of each tale, she applauded his use of "justice" in banter and quick end to each battle.

It was after she graduated college and moved back into Metro city that the kidnappings began. At first, everything seemed legit. Blue — now calling himself Megamind — wanted to use her as bait. She was surprised at how cold he seemed up front, a little worried for her own safety the first few times around. But she'd learned her lesson well about fear and kept it hidden, until she grasped that she was in no danger. Then the fear all but evaporated and she started to tease the "super villain" over his choice of words and quirky plans.

A part of her was always secretly impressed with the creations he'd made, but she refused to look at them from a human's point of view. Almost everything he built was beyond her comprehension, so she learned to read him, to see these things through his own eyes. She gauged her reactions _that_ way, deciding that if he didn't seem to have had a hard time making something, it was unimpressive, no matter its complexity. She deemed this her own personal brand of encouragement, tailored just for him - though she would always kick herself afterwards for encouraging him at all.

By the time this first kidnapping took place, she already felt she and the newly-named Metro Man were O-V-E-R. She was just waiting for him to realize it. The problem was that after he saved her from Megamind's plot, he had declared how strongly he felt for her. And her bleeding heart couldn't bear breaking his, so she kept her lips sealed.

For every kidnapping following, she began seeing the entire thing as a break. Sometimes she'd have up to an hour apart from her beloved, possessive boyfriend with beefy biceps. It began to be _fun_ to spend some time with Megamind, to see what he'd cooked up. In truth she could hardly believe how many evil plots he had, and how he never repeated them was a miracle of his mentality.

But as she started having fun with Megamind, Wayne started to have misgivings. He started taking her straight to his sanctuary, where he would sit her down with him and listen to records of Elvis Presley. More and more he grew possessive of her, and the first time she got up the nerve to suggest breaking up, he'd shouted "no!" and took off straight through the roof. Again, later on, he'd apologized, complete with a speech about how devoted he was and how he never wanted to part with her.

He gave her an engagement ring that day. She had tried to turn him down, and ended up with a broken wrist for her effort. He outright refused to let her leave him. That was the first time she'd felt scared of him, so she did what she deemed was safest: she said "yes". At the time, she promised herself that this was temporary until she found a way out. A _safe_ way out, one that didn't end with her as a pile of bruises and blood.

After she agreed and the news went public, it was as if a weight lifted off him. He was more relaxed, smiled more easily. She tested the waters whenever she could, trying to discern if _now_ would be a good time to return the gold-and-yellow-diamond ring on her finger. But every time she even mentioned an end to them, he lashed out.

Usually it was things like tables and walls that took a beating, but sometimes, with his reactions still so strong, even the most controlled gesture of affection made her swell or bleed. It became his habit to take off after hurting her, returning after he'd cooled his head to apologize. As a general rule he came back with a peace offering - once it'd been a pure, uncut diamond the size of her fist. Though she didn't care much for material items of wealth like that, she had to admit that his heart was in the right place. He was fighting to keep them alive — something most men didn't care enough to do.

He made the effort, so she decided to give it another shot. She tried to keep her interest in him, but no matter what she did or how she looked, nothing would change the fact that she wasn't in love with him. Hell, she admitted to herself that she was more physically attracted to Megamind than him, though she knew better than to say it.

In no time at all, the kidnappings became a reprieve. She showed up looking nice, played up her role as the damsel, and received several raises in her job as an on-site reporter for it. To all outward appearances, she was leading an ideal life — minus the routine kidnappings.

Until the fights began.

She understood well that in most relationships, the couple would bicker. That's how it always began. The bickering would become fighting, and in a lot of cases, the fighting would end the relationship. For them, there had been no bickers. One day they were quiet, listening to his records (that she'd grown sick of hearing) and the next, they were shouting at each other. The memory of what began this first fight was gone, buried under too many negative memories. Of this first fight, she could only remember one particular moment: when she tore off the engagement ring, threw it at him, and declared she wanted _out_.

He'd gone deathly still, holding the ring and staring at her after he'd snatched it up. Then he held it out, told her he _wouldn't_ let her go, and if she ever tried to leave him, he would solder the ring to her finger. Knowing very well that he was capable of this, she'd done as told.

That was when the _real_ horror began.

She spent literally _all_ of her extra time trying to come up with a plan that would end the relationship — without killing her along the way. In the meantime, she pretended to be amused when kidnapped, pretended to enjoy her job, and pretended that she was in love. By this point she was more than an ace reporter; she was a five-star actress. She had everyone fooled. But she took no satisfaction in it. She was suffering in silence, caught in a relationship she couldn't get out of.

Over time, she began regretting her choices in high school, then began blaming Megamind. If only he had _behaved_ instead of acting out, she never would have gone to such lengths to distract and direct Wayne. Her pity of Blue had turned around full circle, and left her in a situation she would do anything to escape. The irony was painful. She was Wayne's victim now, his captive. And, every so often, she was saved by Megamind. They were only brief victories, so she sucked up what positive emotion she could while being tied to a chair.

_Trapped by one, kidnapped by the other._

Any way she looked at it, she was screwed.

The fights with Wayne became so frequent that they began spending time apart rather than together. For a while. And then he moved her things into his hidden sanctuary while she was at work. He looked pleased with himself for doing what he figured would happen eventually; she had never been deeper in despair. The fights raged on. And then he started to hit her.

For the longest time, she could see him holding back. He would clench his muscles, lift an arm but stop himself, open his mouth to yell something and then bite his tongue. But she was going insane, lashing out at him as her tormentor, and he eventually snapped. She was lifted off her feet and sent rolling the first time he actually struck her. It had hurt so bad she compared it to child birth. It was just a flat-hand push to the chest, but it had bruised all the way to the bone. Wayne was gone that entire night. Which was just fine with her; she spent the night in tears.

It degenerated from there. Her will and strength began to crumble under his oppressive presence. Just being near him made her feel weak. Her emotions were in a riot, constantly, so hard to control that she often let out a sob when he was around. It didn't take long for him to snap at her that he hated the sound and didn't want to hear it again. She took his words to heart and learned to smother even the smallest sounds.

In private, they were two very different people than who they were in the city. He controlled himself to the utmost, preventing even the smallest wounds from being caused by him. He was never more gentle with her than when the public was watching him carry her away. In turn, she put on false personas of being a happy bride-to-be, pleased to have such a unique man as hers. But even out there, whenever they met one another's eyes, the truth came out.

He was obsessed with her, possessive and controlling. She was terrified of him, dreading every second in his presence. Even the physical aspects of their relationship were strained beyond comfort. At the beginning, it was tough because he had trouble controlling his eagerness for her. He would kiss her with too much force and her lip would swell up in response. Which was why he'd held back, only kissing her sparingly. Which pained him, she knew. He often mentioned how much he'd love to make out with her, and then make love to her.

Both acts had always frightened her a little. How easily he could hurt her. . . And from the few times she'd given in, she was proved right. He was _too_ excited to have her, always ending with more bruises. She tried to smile through it, but really, there was nothing about it worth smiling about.

And now, to have _this _happen — she couldn't grasp it, not fully. Her world had been shaken so much recently that she felt like a magic eight-ball with only bad news to give. _No. Not likely. Please try again. You're screwed._

Yet, somehow, she had hope. She'd seen a side of Megamind today that reminded her of the kid he used to be. Not Megamind, the villain, but Blue, the awkward teenager looking for positive attention and getting none. She blamed herself for whatever awkwardness was pervading him now. She had only, what, broken down twice? In the span of a minute or so, no less. First she cried on him, holding onto him as if he could solve her problems, then she had climbed onto his lap and devoured his mouth.

She couldn't discern why she'd done - well, anything, really. Her emotions were so wrapped up and twisted that she was acting without thought to direct her. But everything she did felt so good and _right_ at the time, she couldn't regret them. All she knew for certain was that it had calmed her down, settling her riotous insides, and. . .

In all honesty, she feared she was using him. He was the only one with even a slim chance at this — the only one in the world who might actually be able to kill Metro Man. The problem was her lack of self-direction. She couldn't figure out her own reasoning, so what chance did she have of figuring out what her goal was? Of the few things she had a grasp of, however, was that she _liked_ the feel of him.

He was such a complete opposite to Metro Man that she couldn't resist being with him. The obvious parts always softened her towards him: the skin tone and general head area and his admittedly sexy-bad goatee. But the more subtle differences were the ones that called out to her.

His eyes were number one. So expressive and green and — she hadn't noticed before today, after all the time she spent looking in his eyes, but he had an amazing starburst design of yellow threaded through the green. It was incredible, and she kicked herself for never seeing it before.

Number two was his hands. Not just the hands themselves, she supposed, but the way they'd touched her. Smooth and a tad cold with the gloves on, then warm and impossibly soft with them off. His fingertips and each knuckle were a little bit pink, like his ears and cheeks. His palms were calloused. And when she grew addicted to the feel of his hands on her, drawing his fingers across her features, she'd felt little quivers suffuse each digit. The tenderness she found in him was wholly unexpected, and wholly appreciated.

The very feel of his finger on her lips brought up memories of her scant few kisses with Wayne. Always so eager and demanding - always so painful. It made her long for the _real_ thing. She supposed that was one reason why she'd made the snap decision that she had to kiss _him_, Megamind, the very man the tabloids said she hated. But it wasn't the _only_ reason, she knew. The question now was what other reasons there were. Affection without pain — that reasoning went without say.

His kisses, too, had been another differing point that she craved. Who would have guessed that he was such a giver? His lips had been just as tender as his hands, if not more, gracing her with the lightest touches that could still be deemed _kisses_. Surprising, too, had been the moment when he coaxed a noise from her. She didn't know whether to be impressed or accuse him of being diabolical. She'd spent the last two years learning to smother every tiny sound that came from her throat, and in seconds he'd pulled one out of her.

At the end, when he set her aside to work on his traps, she came to the conclusion that this wasn't such a bad development. In another lifetime, with some switched-up decisions, she could have been with him and been. . ._happy_ about it. Technically, she was already, if you judged "happiness" by comparing how miserable and hopeless you were moments before to how miserable and hopeless you were now. Certainly there'd been a lift, at least; she was still smiling. Maybe. . .just maybe, if this works and she's. . .freed. . .of Metro Man, it wouldn't be so terrible to stick with him.

An ironic thought, given he was about to attempt to kill her fiancé.

She couldn't see him, what with the huge back to his evil swivel chair, but she could make out a bit of what he was doing. At first he'd been working controls (all the buttons _actually_ did things; who knew?) and then, to her dumbfounded eyes, he'd hooked up three — _three_ — keyboards and began using them, standing now with the chair pushed away. How he managed this feat, she had no idea. His fingers seemed to fly across the keys of all three, jumping between them. Rather than look random, every last movement was controlled, each press of a key precise and with purpose.

She couldn't help but wonder if he was showing off. Maybe he just worked better standing instead of sitting? _Well,_ she thought, _if he is trying to show off, it's working._ She was impressed. And fascinated, really.

She had a brief, silent conversation with Minion over his boss' single-minded pursuit, using only expressions, gestures, and the occasional sigh. In the end, she concluded that he _did_ go into fits like this often enough, but this was the fastest he'd ever worked. She couldn't help but wonder if she was inspiring him somehow. His desire to help her certainly felt earnest.

In fact. . .she was almost positive now. _Almost._ Because it seemed like the super villain known as Megamind had more than a soft spot or a crush when it came to her. He seemed every bit in love. Not like how Wayne was in love; no, the two were opposites about this as well. Wayne wanted to possess her. Megamind seemed to want to cherish her. Wayne told her to stop crying when she started. Megamind held her without interruption, letting her vent. Wayne hurt her and cornered her. Megamind skillfully avoided her wounds, and let her pull back when she chose to.

The contrast was _blinding._

When she couldn't sit still any longer, she rose and began to pace, anxious. How much time would this take? How much time did they _have?_ Would it work? Probably not — but she had to hope. Without hope, there was only despair, and she wanted at least one positive emotion to coddle while she could. And then, provided it succeeds and Metro Man. . .Wayne. . .dies, what then? She flips sides and stays in a relationship with Megamind? It might be too early for that, yet the idea didn't turn her away. She'd already concluded it wouldn't be so bad. But maybe it would be good for her?

Minion interrupted her thought processes as he sat down at his specific computer. "Sir?" he said with alarm.

Megamind, clearly distracted, bit out, "What?"

"Metro Man approaching."

She froze. All three of them froze. She couldn't bear to look at the monitor, so she just sat down and stared at her feet.

"I didn't call him yet," Megamind was saying, his voice stunned.

"I guess. . .I guess he wants her back," Minion offered, his tone apologetic.

"Over my dead body," the villain ground out, going back to his keyboards. "Or his, preferably," he added.

She stared at his back in shock. He sounded so _fierce_ just then. She'd never heard that tone come from him before. Neither had she heard such words come from his mouth. Usually he was just playing around, goofing off; playing the part of the "super" villain. That nibbling notion came back, the one that suggested he was in love with her. She tried to brush it off, but the words refused to abate.

Now a little distracted, he said, "Minion, just in case this. . ." He glanced at her, sadness and pain in his expression. "Just. . .tie her up again."

Right. Because if Wayne got here and found her willingly sitting in the chair with no ropes, who knew how high he'd blow. She stood up to acquiesce Minion, holding her wrists behind her back. This was the first time she'd ever been tied up while conscious, and that made the situation. . .odd.

Not that anything about this situation was _normal._

Once she was sat back down, Minion went back to his post. "Less than fifteen seconds —" he started with panic.

"I _know!_" Megamind snapped. Not a few seconds later, a rapid beeping started.

She wondered what it was but couldn't let herself ask the question. She was every bit as panicked as those two; if this worked. . .if it _worked_. . . She caught herself holding her breath, unsure what to wish for. _That he wouldn't die? That he would? That he would see what he was doing and let her go?_

"Sir. . !" Minion said.

No response. Megamind's fingers were going still, several times faster than the beeping. Then, abruptly, the beeping stopped, he gave a harsh exhale, and Minion slammed his fist down on a large blue button. With no time for rest, Megamind spun around, retrieved his gloves — met her gaze as he pulled them on — and then put his cape and collar back on. He drew himself up, narrowed his eyes, and in unison, the two of them put on their poker faces.

The monitors flashed black, then showed Metro Man's face. He was hovering in midair now, glaring. _If looks could kill._ Both aliens would be dead the moment they met eyes. Megamind spun, flinging a hand in the air.

"Metro Man, my old friend," he greeted.

Metro Man wasn't having it. "You can't hide her from me, Megamind. I can smell her — and you. This wasn't the time to take her from me."

"Oh? And why is that?" Megamind challenged, mocking him. "Because you weren't quite finished hurting her yet?"

Her eyes widened. _What are you doing? Don't antagonize him!_ Why would he tell Wayne he knew about her injuries like that? Oh. . .this was bad.

The switch from Metro Man to Wayne — to anyone else — was imperceptible. But Roxanne knew him too well. She saw him change from the city's hero to her over-possessive fiancé in a fraction of a second. She saw his pupils begin to glow a bright red.

"You know _nothing_," Wayne ground out, "about our relationship."

"I know at least one thing," Megamind returned, his voice turning as hard as Wayne's face. "I know she has a bruise on her _face_ and that _you_ caused it. What is that, Scott? Aren't you supposed to be the _hero?_ The one who saves her? Well, I suppose you do _that_. But you're clearly not protecting her."

"One more word," Wayne warned him, "and I will tear you limb from limb!"

For a moment, there was silence. Roxanne actually feared that Megamind had given in and wisely decided to hold his tongue. But then he said, in an almost coy tone, "Now."

From the monitors, she watched as gigantic metal slabs lifted from the ground, lined with spikes, and snapped closed like a huge bear trap. Wayne was inside it, and judging from the indents, not squashed. Megamind took it in stride, just watching. Because some kind of chemical gas was released, and as it lifted, it began dissolving what it touched. Only, the metal didn't simply dissolve. It turned liquid and green, resembling goo — that hissed. Acid?

In another moment, Wayne was freed from the metal, but coated, head to toe. His suit began to get eaten away, and he blinked one eye repeatedly, as if it burned him. Then tiny red dots lined up uniformly all over him, growing larger and brighter. In the space of a second, lasers fired. They hit him from all sides, and he struggled against the onslaught, pushing against what must be incredibly powerful beams. She began to hope. From the looks of it, that acidic goop was _hurting_ him, and the beams were preventing him from making an escape.

Wayne roared, a sound of fury and pain so raw it made her jump. The yell seemed to push him onwards, and he shoved his hands out, barring six or seven beams. It gave him enough space to force his way out — and then a failsafe seemed to kick in. As soon as the beams touched, they all turned off. Wayne began spinning in midair, becoming a blur, losing flecks of white and green as the acidic-whatever was thrown off with pieces of his suit.

Megamind slammed his fist down on the control panel in front of him with an angry shout, a gesture she had never seen him perform before. Minion seemed equally distraught, but kept his response to a frown delivered her way. She saw the apology in the fish's face and returned it with an almost-imperceptible nod. The fish got up and made a hasty retreat, falling back on their usual routine.

She ducked her head, wincing prematurely, until the ceiling came crashing in. Then she looked up, saw the face of her hero, and barely kept herself from sobbing outright.

Megamind spun in place, giving a few claps, his eyes reading nothing but pure hatred. Wayne's expression was much the same. The two of them must have figured it out, she realized. They weren't just fighting anymore. Somehow, during that conversation, they came to understand that they were fighting over _her_.

"Fantastic work, as always," Megamind approved, though his tone said the opposite.

In return, Wayne ground out, "That acid - how long does it take to burn out?"

"Never let it be said that I'm not eco-friendly," Megamind chided. "It only hurts organics. You noticed the metal plate beneath you when it struck, yes?" Wayne offered no response, so Megamind went on. "It will turn harmless in an hour or so. Until then, you might want to wash up _before_ touching your. . .fiancé."

Wayne seemed to struggle with indecision. He was still somewhat coated, she noted, his suit still dissolving little by little. He tossed a glance at her, at himself, and back at Megamind. Then he stalked forward, raising a threatening hand at the villain. Megamind backed up.

"Want to know how potent your own acid is?" Wayne suggested.

"Wayne!" she called, and he paused. "Please, don't! You're the hero — remember? The penal system punishes him. Your job is just to get him there. Justice — not revenge," she stressed. It was her motto, one she repeated to him often. Justice and revenge were vastly different. And revenge tended to go around in circles, leaving blood and pain in its wake.

How hypocritical to talk about justice to him now, when she wanted pure vengeance on everything he'd put her through. She had no right to preach — but she couldn't let him do this.

"Why not, Roxie?" he challenged. He didn't look at her. "Why shouldn't I kill him now?"

_Because I need him to kill _you, she thought, hating herself for knowing the truth. "Because you're better than this," she said. Doing her best at placating the beast, she went on, "Please, Wayne. I want to go home. Just. . .get cleaned up, and then you can take him away and take me home."

From the corner of her eye, she saw hurt flash across Megamind's expression before he masked it. But she couldn't let herself react. For the sake of everyone's survival, she had a part to play. She feared she would fall apart if she let her control slip, so she clamped it down in a mental vice.

Slowly, Wayne lowered his arm and turned halfway to look at her. His eyes were hard, his face tense. He was. . .suspicious, she realized, so she pulled up a smile for him. Working him over. Manipulating. He softened a fraction, then spun the rest of the way and walked up to her. He came down on one knee and said, for her ears alone, "I'll be right back — and I'll make this up to you."

She made an effort to soften her own face, though she wasn't sure how well it worked. "I forgive you," she lied.

* * *

Note: SWEET JESUS. Long chapter. And I just couldn't stop writing it! I sat down at about midnight, it's now almost 6:30. I don't think I've ever been this addicted to my own story before. . .

Next chapter: Roxanne and Megamind, both in prisons of vastly different sorts, begin to plot together, using Minion as a middleman.


	3. Imprisoned

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_3. Imprisoned_

* * *

Mr. Jonathon Warden, ironically the warden of this facility, had seen a lot during his thirty-something years as the head of this particular prison. Every so often, something would surprise him, though with more years and experience behind them, the surprises came less and less. Nothing could have prepared him for the arrival of the tiny blue baby that the inmates adopted and named "Boy Blue". Nothing could have prepared him for the knowledge that _another _alien baby had landed on the other side of town. And nothing could have prepared him for the singular experience it was to watch Blue grow up.

He'd always had a bit of a father issue with the boy, more so since for the first few years, Blue had looked up to him. His place in authority and the way he ran the prison seemed to intrigue Blue, until it appeared that the alien adored him in an odd, roundabout manner. Having young children at home, it wasn't hard for John to adapt his discipline measures to the growing boy, and though he tried for years to find a better place for him to grow up, eventually John gave up. He accepted that prison itself might just be the safest place for such an obvious outcast.

It felt like betrayal went Blue went bad, but he couldn't honestly say he was completely surprised. If you gave someone enough negative energy, inevitably, they would start to give it back. And he'd seen Blue soak up so much negativity over the years. . . It couldn't have been healthy, even to an alien.

John still tried with him. Urged him to keep going to school, hoping that spending time with others would help him develop social skills and would dull the rest of the city to his presence. He wanted acceptance for the boy the prison had adopted, but after years and years, he'd given up hope. Instead, he just began to do what his job entailed: punish the criminal.

Though he hated doing it, he saw no choice left. Blue threw himself into his role as a super villain with both hands in, titling himself Megamind and reveling in the bad things he did. In no time, he had a rap sheet that could bury him, large cranium and all. His list, at least, never included intentional harm to living persons, and if he had ever done so, no one was coming forth with evidence. Though his antics kept getting worse and worse, destroying larger chunks of the city with each installment, his moral code seemed to remain firmly in place.

It became rare for John to get startled, especially in his own prison. Whenever something happened to take the place of the previous "what the hell was _that?_" it was usually Megamind's fault, so that, too, became predictable. He would shrug off the occurrence, whatever it was, and continue on as if nothing had changed. For the most part, nothing _did_ change.

He still walked his daily rounds, straightening out prisoners and guards alike, still came upon Megamind's solitary wing to check on him. With his numerous escapes, John made sure to tighten security and keep an active eye on him. Once the alien had escaped somehow — he still wasn't sure how — by putting a perfect wax replica in his place and turning it to face the TV. The guard watching his monitors hadn't noticed anything odd, until he actively checked the video feed and realized Megamind wasn't breathing. After that, they installed a more advanced system that scanned Megamind constantly for signs of life.

As John approached the solitary cell, he took in the scene before him, reading guard Houston's disposition. The man looked confused, watching the live feed with his head cocked. Well, at least he wasn't reading the newspaper again.

"Open it up," John ordered, his usual phrase for pulling back the window shield. Houston scrambled to do as asked.

No wonder the man was confused. Megamind was pacing, circling his chair, the TV on but showing nothing but static. John narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Though the alien was prone to doing odd things no one else could explain away, this was a first. He'd never looked so agitated before, never paced with such sharp movements. It was like something was on his mind, something that required his full attention. Something he couldn't stop thinking about.

Which usually meant he was onto something, which, by turns, was _bad_. From the time he was eleven, Blue had ceased working on projects in prison that could be shared with mankind, opting instead to keep his discoveries to himself. Which just might be a good thing, given the number of destructive things he'd created; if mankind got their hands on such technology and put it into production, they'd likely destroy themselves with it.

"Megamind," John snapped.

He was spared a glance of acknowledgement and nothing more, not even interrupting the alien's fierce pace as he rounded the chair, spun, backtracked, spun again, circled the chair. . . For once, John couldn't see a pattern to his movements. It was as if Megamind was so deep in his thoughts that he wasn't aware of himself physically anymore.

The warden made several more attempts at gaining his attention, going so far as to threaten to cut off power to the cell or offer a single tool to be used for ten minutes, but he was ignored. He decided, then, that he had to have more answers. This was too peculiar for even Megamind. After ordering the guard to close the shade, he went back to his office, flipping through his options.

The reporter, Roxanne Ritchi, was a good place to start. She probably knew both aliens better than anyone else, given how tightly she was wedged between them. John often pitied her for being caught between the two during their struggles, but after seeing how very strong she was, he began shrugging it off. She rarely batted an eye when she was thrown into the citywide skirmishes. John wished his two daughters had her prowess and maturity; they were both too easily scared and flustered, though one was older than Miss Ritchi herself.

He thumbed through his rolodex (which he still considered too handy to replace) until he found her station's number, calling it up. It didn't take long to get her on the line.

"Miss Ritchi? This is John Warden, head of the Prison for the Criminally Gifted," he introduced, opting for his less ridiculous title. Saying _"this is warden Warden"_ sounded absolutely stupid. And redundant.

"Oh, yes, this is she," she replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to you in person, if I could."

"Might I ask what this pertains to?"

"Megamind. His behavior is. . .odd, for him," he explained. "I wanted to ask about what happened during his latest plot."

"We don't need to talk in person for that," she denied. "I can answer any of your questions over the phone."

"No, I'd rather do this in person. Are you willing to come down here to the prison, or would you prefer meeting elsewhere?" He didn't give her the option of backing out; he was skilled with these kinds of ultimatums. He was going to get his answers. Especially now that he had the lingering suspicion that she knew what was going on. After all, years spent in a prison such as this taught him how to read others down to the tiniest detail. He could teach _psychiatrists _a thing or two.

She paused, then sighed. "I'll come down there. My boss gave me an assignment to interview Megamind anyway, so I might as well get both done at once. It should take me forty minutes if I leave now. Is that alright?"

"Yes. I'll inform the guards of your arrival. They'll let you in."

"Goodbye."

He didn't answer, just put the phone back down, then began tapping his fingers. Something was up. Like the phrase _something smells fishy_, only this smelled more like a blue whale in proportion. It was sudden, too, but he had the distinct feeling that things had been smelling like a whale for some time now. He hadn't noticed it. . .though perhaps that was because Megamind wasn't behind the stench. No, after talking with the Ritchi girl, he found it seemed to be coming from her.

Which raised another series of questions he couldn't answer. After informing the guards as promised, he settled in to wait, impatient for the forty minutes to pass and for him to be alerted of her arrival. At one point he radioed Houston for an update on Megamind. _No change._ He was still pacing, though his disposition might be getting darker. That fact worried John; if Megamind could cause so much trouble just by being bad, what was his capacity for destruction if he started being _evil?_ And why would that start now, of all times?

Something must have happened. Something big. And, apparently, concerning Roxanne Ritchi. What was the connection? What was the _catalyst?_

How long was forty minutes, exactly?

Apparently much longer than he ever expected it to be. He hadn't felt time this clearly since the first time his wife had been in labor, and the entire birthing took almost thirty-six hours. Then, too, it had driven him mad. But, at long last, he was paged that Miss Ritchi had arrived.

His back popped several times as he stood up, and he groaned, hating his age. _Ten years ago I was a spring chicken. Now I'm halfway to being cripple._

She was waiting in the open visitation room. It was filled with chairs and tables, some large, some small, and intended for the lesser-violent criminals to be able to see their visitors. The other visitation room had bullet-proof glass paneling and phones. She looked up when he entered, and he did an instant double-take.

There was a thin bandage on her face high up on her cheekbone, seemingly to hold the skin together. It was badly discolored, too, and he wondered what had happened to her. His first, reflexive thought was to blame Megamind; she'd been in his clutches the previous day, so maybe he actually managed to injure her before Metro Man had shown up to save her.

He took a seat across from her, eyed her wound with a pointed look, and waited for an explanation. After a moment, she rolled her eyes heavenward.

"I was almost in a collision," she explained. "Hit my face on the steering wheel when I slammed on the breaks."

"Does it normally break the skin?" he replied, skeptical.

"No, but a clumsy paramedic does."

Ah. That made more sense. Regardless, he was suspicious. She was hiding something already — maybe not anything that had to do with her wound, but she was hiding something. Deciding to let it be and focus instead on his answers, he said, "I want you to talk me through yesterday's ordeal with Megamind."

She gave a nod, wet her lips, and began. As he listened, he noted the way she spoke, with such careful precision that he began thinking it was a practiced speech. Also suspicious. On the one hand, she probably had to retell the same story a lot, so it would only be natural for her to practice it ahead of time. On the other, no, she was still holding back. As she went through how she'd been kidnapped and Megamind told her how today was Metro Man's last day, he realized she was also lying. This wasn't the real story — it was an altered one.

He cut her off with a sharp motion with his hand, and she looked at him in bemusement. "Enough bullshit," he told her. "I asked for the truth."

After a moment, her eyes took on a faraway look, and then darkened. She replied, "I can't tell you that, Mr. Warden."

"I can arrest you for withholding information," he reminded her.

"I wasn't aware this was an investigation."

"It's not. Not _yet_. But I can imprison anyone for forty-eight hours without reason, Miss Ritchi."

Her eyes went blank. "I'm already imprisoned, Mr. Warden. Is that all?"

He leaned back, stunned. Imprisoned _how?_ Something Megamind did? He said, "If you're in danger, if you need help —"

"You can't save me, Mr. Warden," she interrupted. "I need you to forget about this. The less people who are aware, the better." She rose. "I can promise you that if I ever feel I need your help, I won't hesitate to request it. Now, if this talk is over, I still have an interview to conduct."

"Of course," he agreed automatically, rising as well. He reached out, and when she took his hand, he leaned in close. Lowering his voice, he said, "If you're ever in trouble, remember that you can trust me." Truer words had never been spoken; his sense of justice had been hard-wired into him at a young age, and he'd spent his entire life righting wrongs — first in schoolyard justice, then as an officer, guard, and now a warden. His name was well-earned. And he felt very protective of young women in particular, probably because he had two daughters. He'd always been unable to not worry over Miss Ritchi's predicament, and now, he considered it about damn time he offered his protection to her.

A long, tense moment passed, and then she nodded. "I understand," she murmured. She stepped back; he released her.

"I'll have a guard escort you to the high-security visitation room, then send out Megamind." He gestured a guard over to do just that. And as he gave orders, he thought things over. This was too peculiar. He was starting to wonder if Metro Man had anything do with her state of being. _You can't save me,_ she'd said. So why hadn't she said that Metro Man could, unless he was part of the problem?

Maybe their relationship wasn't as pristine as it appeared on the television and in the newspapers. That thought unsettled him, and left him at a loss. What could he do if she was having spats with her groom-to-be? Offer counseling? And he couldn't help but think that it was _all_ connected: what she was hiding, her 'imprisonment', Megamind's odd behavior. . . He decided he would be watching the entire "interview" from the security room and headed that way, unsure what he would find, and less sure what he _wanted_ to find.

* * *

Roxanne had to wait less than a minute after sitting down for Megamind to arrive, ushered to the chair opposite the glass. He held up his wrists until his cuffs were released so he could pick up the phone. She was actually glad to see him plaster on an unconcerned smirk.

"Miss Ritchi," he greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Pen and paper at the ready (considering she couldn't very well audio-record through a setup like this), she held the phone with her left hand. "Nothing you would actually consider pleasurable," she returned smoothly. As they met eyes, staring, an unspoken wavelength went between them. Signals were sent and received, and then they were both phrasing things very carefully, deciphering what they said with a code only they knew. She paid close attention to every little thing he did, every twitch and shrug and wave of the hand, knowing it was all significant.

He replied, "Not a social call, then? Too bad. I was rather hoping you decide to dump your loser boyfriend for someone so much better. Like me." He grinned. Between the lines, she read, _So he hasn't been hurting you again?_

"Not a chance," she denied. "He treats me well; why would I want to leave him?" _Nothing new._ "I'm here for an interview, actually. My boss thought I could get some answers out of you." _I wanted to see you again, so I took the assignment._

"Ah, that's too bad. Speaking of being treated well, I hope Minion hasn't been tormenting you without me there to witness it." _Has Minion visited you?_

"Oh, please. Minion isn't _stupid_ enough to come out of hiding and get himself caught." _Not yet. _

"Well, that's just harsh, Miss Ritchi. No need for name calling." He tilted his head. "So you truly have no ulterior motives to coming to see me? Such as desiring to see my handsome face in this _lovely_ shade of orange?" _Anything else before we get to business?_

"You mean besides laughing at you for your incredible failure yesterday?" _Thank you for trying so hard._ "No, I can't think of anything. Now I don't want to spend any more time here than necessary, so if you don't mind. . ?" _I can't be here too long. He hates it._ She waggled her pen at him.

"Oh, fine. Spoil-sport," he chided. _I won't hold you up._ "First question, my damsel?"

She arched a brow, pretending to be annoyed with the nickname, when in reality, it warmed her on the inside. She glanced at her written questions, prepared her pen by scribbling with it, then said aloud, "A lot of people fear you, while just as many consider you a joke. What's your opinion about these reactions?"

He thought it over, and when he spoke, she obligingly wrote quick to keep up. She listened without believing, knowing he was playing up his role again. And she heard, beneath the words, his worried queries about her. She knew he was disturbed by the increased damage to her face — what had been a bruise just yesterday also had a scab today. But she hadn't been _totally_ lying when she told the warden that a clumsy paramedic had caused the damage. She had done so, while trying to treat it.

She avoided answering his hidden questions as much as she could, trying to forget what happened yesterday after she'd been brought 'home'. After two or three verbal questions, he gave up the silent line of questioning, switching to a new subject: his escape. She knew it wasn't easy getting hints to Minion, so having her in on the plan was useful.

She was surprised at herself for being so very willing to help out. Underneath the drab but clever interview, they were talking about breaking him out of prison, breaking laws in the process. The very fact that she was agreeing to help made her accessory to the crime — or at least, she would be, once it happened. Odd how that didn't give her any reservations about it. She was, however, worried about Wayne. If he found out that she was _helping_ Megamind. . .

Well, he was already jealous that she spent any time with anyone at all. It confused her, knowing he was somehow insecure behind all the strength and outward charisma. And he was fulfilling his own prophecy along the way; he feared losing her, so he was forcing her to stay, and now she wanted out. The tighter one clenched an iron fist, the more the thing being held was squeezed out. It felt that way to her, that she was being crushed while being pushed away.

The interview itself passed flawlessly on the outside, while the plan beneath it got some headway. As she reread his answers, she noted they were appropriate for him, both devious and diabolical. She made sure to rephrase some of them, however, in order to prevent any kind of citizen-deciphering from occurring.

"I believe that will be all," she said after close to an hour. _Ran out of questions._

"Oh, certainly," he nodded. "Farewell, Miss Ritchi. I'll see you soon."

She smiled inwardly at that one as she left. Clever man. On the outside, it sounded like foreshadowing; on the inside, he wished her luck and made a kind of promise that it wouldn't take long. That, plus his inner hints that he'd been making a lot of progress mentally gave her a renewed sense of hope.

But they couldn't keep this up forever.

She had a visitor waiting for her back at work. Technically, she didn't have much work _at_ work; most of her job was on-site, after all. Other than research, she didn't have much to do in the building itself. Thus, her cubicle was pretty barren, aligned with three others to make a perfect square. In her chair sat her visitor. She tapped her fingers on the partition wall and cleared her throat.

The chair swung around, revealing a middle-aged man, complete with laugh lines, sandy hair, oddly tan eyes — and a name tag declaring he was from channel 12 news, KDPR.

She rolled her eyes. "Look, Mr. . ." she eyed his tag, "Nolan. I don't have the time or the patience to play news channel games. If you please. . ?" She leaned back to gesture that he leave.

He stood up, but didn't exit. "This won't take long. I was just going to ask you for an interview —"

"Already had one today. Two, actually."

"Please, hear me out."

She paused, considered him. He looked sincere, at least. And there was something about him that seemed familiar. He was older than her, she was sure, but maybe she knew him from somewhere? A previous interview (she was asked for dozens of them a year), they were both on-site reporters, maybe? She gave it a shot. "Alright, I'll hear you out. No promises about the interview."

He looked pleased. "Thank you. Now, my questions all pertain to - well, I imagine you already know." _Metro Man and Megamind._ "I was hoping to get some insight into them for my next article: _Defender and Destroyer From Other Worlds_. It's about the differences between them," he explained, "and if they're privately who they seem to be publicly." At that, she narrowed her eyes, suspicious of him. "So, if you please, Miss Ritchi. . ." He gestured the chair for her to sit.

A feeling of cold went up her back and her focus zoomed in on him. That was _Minion,_ somehow. She knew it because most people had the habit of referring to her as either _Metro Man's fiancé _or _Mrs. Scott_, despite the fact that she wasn't married yet. Certain people whom knew her would stick with _Miss Ritchi, Ms. Ritchi,_ or _Roxanne_. "Miss" was the middle ground.

But this man had gone with a phrase and name and tone she recognized in a split second. And his eyes. . . She'd been close enough to Minion enough times to identify those tan-brown-almost-yellow starburst eyes. She noticed them partly because they were so _unique_ for a fish. Not to mention his added line about _who they seem to be publicly._ They were such subtle hints, yet she identified him without a shadow of a doubt. _God, Minion, you're brilliant._

As she realized all this, she made an effort to keep it hidden. No signs, no hints. She gave a nod and took her seat, crossing her legs. She still had questions about how he'd disguised himself so flawlessly, but she held back. That could wait.

"Okay," she agreed, "your article intrigues me. What would you like to know?"

Like before with Megamind, there was a whole conversation underneath the spoken one. She avoided any questions on her part that would ask how in the hell he managed to appear human, and in turn, he didn't bring up what happened last night after her 'rescue'. _So polite and tactful. _She'd heard Megamind call him a 'fantastic fish' on several occasions, and now she had proof that it was true.

She related what she could about Megamind's escape without going beyond the unspoken code, surprised when his responses included that he was well aware of the progress. The reporter part of her burned to know exactly how Minion was so aware of the goings-on of the prison when he didn't seem to have any access to it, but she kept silent about it.

At the end of the mock interview, they had another meeting set up for tomorrow at a café downtown. And after he left, she got back to work, shocking herself when she noticed her reflection in her computer monitor. She was smiling. Not a false, forced one, but one full of hope. As she saw it, her spirits lifted, and then she hid the smile. It was ironic, but necessary; now that she was starting to feel better, she needed to pretend to still be miserable. Good thing she was still a five-star actress.

The rest of the night didn't go quite so well. As per her usual habit, she used any excuse to avoid going back to the sanctuary. This could sometimes backfire, because Wayne also had a habit: of taking her there when he wanted her. After dark, she ran out of things to do, so she grudgingly headed back. He wasn't there when she arrived — thank god — so she went about preparing dinner for herself.

That was one upside to their relationship, she supposed. He didn't like to force her to do housework like some common wife, so he never asked for her to make dinner for them both. She fed herself; he fed _him_self. Time passed, he still wasn't around, and she breathed a sigh of relief to know she would be going to sleep without him. The sleeping arrangements were another thing - he didn't fully trust himself not to hurt her in his sleep, so they had separate beds. Which was one of the scant few things she appreciated that he thought of.

She was just climbing into bed when he arrived. Silent, as always; she didn't know he was there until he spoke.

"You saw him today."

She had long since been dulled to surprises that would make normal people jump, so she just looked over at him, pretending to have trouble thinking of who he meant. "Megamind?" she queried at last.

"You went to the prison," he said, not moving from the doorway.

"I was asked by the warden to go to the prison," she clarified.

"Why?"

"He had questions. Apparently Megamind's acting odd and he figured I might have some insight."

He started forward. "And why did the warden think you might have answers?"

_Because I'm one of three people who know him,_ she sneered mentally, _and the only one who is easy to contact._ "Well, I _am_ the only human he's in contact with," she shrugged.

"Did you figure out why he's acting weird?"

"Nope. He's bizarre," she hinted, "and I don't pretend to know what goes on in his head. Maybe he's having an existential crisis, I don't know."

At her bed now, he sat down on the edge, looking at her. She rose her brows, hating his presence but still trying to pretend like she didn't mind. After a little while, she began to quiver, and hated herself for it.

She could tell he was thinking back to last night. The moment he set her down here, he'd exploded with accusations. As it turned out, there were valid. He could smell that she and Megamind had been all over each other, and he knew the signs that she'd been crying. She couldn't come up with any excuses on the spot like that, with him bearing down on her, so she'd shut down. Rather than risk killing her in a fit of jealousy, he'd taken off as he usually did. _To his sanctuary away from me. I wish I had one._

Afterwards, she'd gone to the bathroom and stared at her reflection for a long time. She felt like she didn't know who she really was anymore. On the inside, she'd been beaten down so hard that she felt tiny and timid, far different from the strong, capable woman she used to be. Her reflection, at least, had been true to that. She saw the lingering red in and around her eyes, saw the glaringly obvious bruise on her cheek. Normally the bruises were easy to hide with a stylish ensemble and a confident walk.

This one she practiced with. She tried covering it up with compact, then washed it off. But she was shaking bad enough that she'd broken the skin in the process. Deciding it was a lost cause, she'd put a bandage on it to keep the skin together and thought up a reasonable excuse. Today she'd worn a high-necked sleeveless shirt to hide the wound on her neck.

Oh yes, she was skilled at hiding her pain, both physical and emotional. The wound on her face, however, had shocked everyone at work, and her boss actually pulled her out of on-site reporting until it was healed - or at least able to be hidden with makeup. She was glad for the reprieve, really; between putting on faces for the camera and dealing with Hal's constant concern over whether or not she was making a mistake with Metro Man, she could use a break.

Damn Hal and his ability to see how miserable she was — and his _inability_ to take a hint.

Until she'd been called by Mr. Warden, she'd spent the day trying to think up a reason to justify why she'd been crying yesterday and why she and Megamind smelled like each other. In the end, she tossed out excuse after excuse, until she'd been left with nothing but the truth. Wayne was dense, yes, but suggesting it'd been so hot that Minion had set up fans around the lair was bullshit and not even _he_ would buy it. So she decided to go with the truth, or half of it at least, and clung to the hope that he wouldn't catch on that she was still hiding something.

Now he brought it up. "Are you ready to tell me what happened?" he started, with a more gentle tone that she expected to hear from him.

She reminded herself, once she shook off the stun, _not_ to be grateful for this. No matter how patient and understanding he was right now, nothing would change the fact that he was still abusing her. Just because he wasn't yelling or demanding, just because this was better than usual, didn't make what they had _okay_.

She still couldn't make herself look at him. "I wasn't prepared to be kidnapped. You saw what I was wearing," she hinted. "Plus the bruise. . . He started asking questions, and I broke down. Maybe this is his next diabolical plot," she added as if she'd considered it, "but he was being _nice_ and I guess. . . I reacted without thinking. He untied me and I clung to him and couldn't let go."

Tension rolled off him in waves that she could feel as though they were currents of wind. _Don't hit me, don't break my bed - if you're pissed, just leave. . ._ She wouldn't let herself beg out loud, but damn if she couldn't stop herself from begging in her mind.

How ironic that Megamind had been trying for so long to get her to beg, and it was Wayne who'd actually achieved it. She bit back a sob at the thought.

After a very long moment, he bit out, "But he tied you back up."

She gave a snort. "I _am_ still the bait."

"Roxie." She flinched at the name. "I need to. . .go. But I'll be back."

_Go._ She feared she knew exactly what he meant. She snapped up to look at him. "Not to. . .punish Megamind?" she wondered, trying to make it sound like she didn't mind the idea, but it came out shaky and weak and _fearful_.

"He deserves what I do to him," Wayne told her, every inch threatening.

She shrank back, but still managed to say, "That's what prison is for."

"Prison isn't doing its job!"

"Prison's job isn't _your_ job!"

"Maybe it _needs_ to be! If he's manipulating you like this —" He broke off, strode away from the bed, then spun to face her again. "I know — I know you might be feeling gratitude for him, and I know I have trouble with. . .you, but you need to understand that _he's just using you to get to me._ I love you, Roxie - he doesn't." He was still threatening, but his eyes were pleading.

She saw her chance and took it, deciding that she could still find a way to protect Blue from Wayne. Though she was terrified of what she was doing and why, she tossed back the covers, stood up, and crossed over to him. "You're right," she agreed. "Wayne, I'm sorry." She lifted her hand, placed it on his chest — forced herself not to hesitate. "But. . .I don't want you to go. Not right now. Just forget about him right now." Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Stay with me tonight." _Say it._ "I need you."

That was all it took. He softened, his massive muscles loosening, completely twisted around her little finger. It was so rare for her to say those words - and they'd never once been true. Every time she'd spoken them, it had been to stop him from doing something, to protect someone. . .ultimately sacrificing pieces of herself in the process. After this, she didn't know how much more she could spare before she became an empty shell.

_Placating the beast._

She spent the rest of the night doing her damnedest to appear eager and pleased, as if she _missed_ this. But she still either kept her eyes closed or caught herself memorizing the pattern on the ceiling because she couldn't meet his gaze. She felt infinitely better once it over, because it was always then when he was the most relaxed, the most calm. They were cuddled, one of his arms just hanging across her waist, his mouth against her shoulder, just breathing. She kept herself utterly still, knowing what would happen if she tried to get up first.

If he fell asleep. . .well, that would just be _bad_. Already she felt sore in a few key places, and knew without looking that there'd be a palm imprint on her hip. And he'd tried so hard this time to avoid all that, it truly made her sad. Any other woman in her place would be in as much trouble with intimacy. It was the single thing about him that she pitied.

Eternity seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes, and then he sighed. "I'm so sorry that we can't sleep in the same bed," he said.

She knew that. "This is enough," she replied, and it was true - in a manner of speaking. With false affection in mind, she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. He moved his face into the touch, and she clenched her jaw. He was so much different like this, more like the high school Wayne, that it tore at her every time. She was reminded of when he used to be calm and all about doing things right and self-control, feeding off the adulation shown to him — the adulation she'd been giving him, too. He still fed on the approval of the crowd, but now he was _always_ right, a god that could do no wrong.

_Regret._

Another eternity passed in silence, before he moved. He picked her up, put her back in her own bed, then hesitated, hovering close. She knew what he wanted now, and tried to signal that she was okay with it by lifting her chin. With all the tenderness she'd ever craved, he kissed her. _Huh,_ she thought after he pulled back and settled into his own bed. _That one didn't hurt._ Maybe she wouldn't have a bruised lip in the morning.

Well, with the addition of dark red lipstick, it _appeared_ like she didn't have a bruise, at least. Even Minion didn't seem to notice during their second "interview". Or if he did, he wisely kept quiet about it.

This meeting was even more strategic than the last, given they'd both had all day to think about what they would say. She learned that he'd gone to see Megamind yesterday after they'd parted (which, she imagined, shocked the warden and every guard on duty — two visitors in one day? Megamind usually got one visitor a year) and the two had discussed the next plot behind the surface conversation. Minion now had his orders, and with his disguise of a reporter who planned to return daily with new questions for the inmate, everything appeared legitimate.

For the next two weeks, this kept up. Everyone fell into routine, even Metro Man. Roxanne received updates from "Nolan" whenever he wanted to double-check something Megamind said with her. They made no further meetings ahead of time; he just called her and asked to chat about business. This became her new excuse to stay in the city for hours, well past dark in one instance.

Unfortunately, another effect from this was a new suspicion from Wayne. He noticed Nolan, noticed how relaxed she seemed in his presence, and grew jealous. The only way she could combat this was with extra work in the actress department, starting to make things even more formal with Nolan and more relaxed with Wayne. This version of placating the beast wasn't hard, it worked, and she didn't hate herself quite so much for it. And by turns, she began placating _herself_ with promises that _it was almost over._

Megamind had some kind of satellite death ray in the works, it seemed, and from what she could understand, it would be more powerful than anything else he'd ever made. It would have the power of the _sun_ behind it. Once more, she began to hope.

She still felt like a terrible woman for hoping for someone's death, but in the interest of self-preservation. . . Well, she couldn't blame herself. The day marked for escape couldn't come fast enough, but as they all still had a part to play, it was held off until June 17th. That day, the Metro Man museum would be opened publicly. In the effort to play her part and continue with her placations, she began writing up a speech for her coverage that day.

She tried to make it sound a little like a goodbye at the end, which was a vindictive little victory for her.

* * *

Note: Anyone who doubted how obsessed I am with writing this should now be aware. Three chapters in three days.

This one was difficult to write once it got to the confrontation between Wayne and Roxanne, so please don't hate me if you disliked it. Warden's name being John Warden I made up on the spot, but it amuses me so much that I decided to keep it. I doubt it's his canon name.

And, yes, I am trying align this fic with the movie, at least a little. That's why they went to school together (it's canon in the comics) and why I've included the museum and the death ray. Also, if you haven't guessed it, Minion is using a holowatch.

I also wanted to thank every single reviewer and watcher who likes this fic. It shocked me to find this story getting so much love, considering I was extremely worried about it. A few of the reviews really stuck out to me, particularly the longer ones that critique a bit. I'd go through every single penname if I could, but some are anonymous. I'll bring up here that I _love_ getting reviews, and I have a habit of replying to most of them (which some of you must know by now), so don't be surprised if I chat back.

A huge shout-out to Anon, an anonymous reviewer, whose words had me in shock for a minute and made me think more deeply about this fic. I know who you are now, of course, but I still feel you deserve a mention.

Next Chapter: The opening of the Metro Man museum and the Death Ray.


	4. Endure

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_4. Endure_

* * *

Megamind came close to having a _literal_ mental meltdown as the days neared to his escape. He was frantic over getting each and every detail correct, to the point where he started to use the buttons on his jumpsuit to scratch equations and formulae into the walls of his cell, just to have visual aid. They all appeared to be lined up and without error, which was good, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't going to work. Which could be because it never _had_ worked before.

Oh, his creations worked fine; they were all flawless. Just useless against the big white hero of Metrosity. Even his last plan had failed, though it seemed to have come damn close to actually hurting Scott. He could recall seeing the hero's eye flutter as though it stung. That was good news, so he had incorporated some of the formula into the Death Ray. With luck, the blast would liquidate the metal of the observatory he had it aiming at, creating the same acidic compound as before. If all went to plan, the acid would weaken Metro Man, and the Death Ray would do the rest of the work.

It was strange to think that he wasn't doing this for himself anymore. He still wanted Metro Man in a crumpled pile at his feet, of course, but now he also wanted Roxanne there beside him to witness it. He wondered if she would value such a victory as much as he would - probably more, all things considered. Megamind may get hurt in his schemes, but these were all things he brought upon himself by keeping at it. Miss Ritchi was doing nothing to incur wrath, yet she was being harmed anyway.

_Hate him._

When he heard footsteps approaching his cell, he jumped into his chair, quickly stuffing the torn-off buttons into the crease of the seat. When the shield was drawn back, he spun, steepling his fingers. "Warden," he greeted, because he knew it annoyed the man that he never clarified if he was addressing his authority or ignoring it.

"You got a present," Warden informed him, showing it.

Megamind arched a brow, feigning confusion. "From who?"

"Metro Man," John answered, flipping open the lid to the little box. He read the card aloud, "To count every second of your eighty-five life sentences." He made an odd noise, now pulling out a watch to show Megamind. "That's funny, I never thought Metro Man was the gloating type." Throwing in a hard look, he added, "Though I guess you deserve it for what you put Miss Ritchi through."

"Yes, yes, we're all angry at the villain, grr," Megamind mocked. "Are you going to give me my watch or do I have to beg first?"

"I'll be keeping it," Warden told him, fastening it around his wrist.

"Now that's just cruel, Warden," Megamind sighed. "Showing me I got a present and then taking it away. Surely you don't tease your children like this?"

He was given no answer as the warden scoffed, turned, and the shade closed again, blocking out the outside world. He sat back, shaking his leg and waiting. It didn't take too long for hurried footsteps to start coming back down, and he ducked behind his chair, getting little excited thrills. Once he was out again, he had the next three hours planned down to the minute. If all went accordingly, by the end of it, Metro Man would be ash, Roxanne would be free, and Metrosity would be all his.

The door slid open and a body was thrown in the chair. He made his move, yanking off the watch and slipping it on as he darted around the busy guards.

The groaning from the chair turned into words as the warden said, "No, you fools! He's tricked us."

This was normally the part where he had a perfect line waiting, so he followed tradition as he turned on the hologram, saying, "I guess you should have just given me the watch." He spun and darted out, the door sliding closed behind him per the timed setting. Now disguised as John Warden, he walked out of the prison with no one getting in his way.

At almost the exact same time that he paused at the sidewalk, an invisible door swung open, Minion showing through the gap with a fishy grin. "Afternoon, sir. Need a lift?"

Megamind couldn't help a grin as he jumped in, slamming the door shut. "Ah, you fantastic fish!" He turned the hologram off. "It all went perfect. How are the preparations?"

"Ready to go, sir. The satellite is trained on the observatory, Miss Ritchi is at the museum, and now you're here." Minion gave a wink. "Sir, despite everything. . .I really believe this is going to work."

"I know," Megamind sighed, "it's unbelievable. So many failures —"

"Well over six hundred," Minion added.

"But this time, _this time,_ it feels. . .positive." For a few moments, as the car sped along the streets, Megamind thought back to the previous villainous plots. There was a difference between all of them and this one: need. Before, he'd wanted the traps to work. Now, for the sake of the woman he loved, he _needed_ for it to work. The change was staggering.

After another minute, he checked the watch. Half an hour before the dedication ceremony would begin. Enough time to get back to the lair, look over everything, and catch Roxanne's speech live before Minion snatched her and brought her here. Sadly, they couldn't afford to show the true relationship between them (which was steadily shifting from villain-victim to unrequited love-desperate need) so she needed to be knocked out and tied up. But Megamind was not without mercy, so he tossed the bag idea. He only ever used it for show, anyway, really.

It wasn't until he was back in the lair, surrounded by his trusty-but-very-young brainbots and in his usual villain outfit that he had the oddest feeling. It was a _this is it_ feeling, as if he anticipated the world was about to begin spinning in the opposite direction. After he destroyed Metro Man, who knows? Maybe it would. Things would change, that was certain.

Now he began to wonder what would happen to Roxanne. Once she was freed, what would she do then? During the last almost-three-weeks, he'd been so focused that he couldn't let himself think about it, lest he lose his train of thought at a critical moment. But, really, what _would_ she do? He knew what he was going to do: shout, dance, probably lose his mind for a few minutes, hopefully get to kissing her again. And then head straight to City Hall and take over.

Wait. Bad idea.

He wanted her to be part of his future, close and comfortable and happy — and, fates willing, all his. But knowing her and her sense of right and wrong, she probably _wouldn't _agree to going along with him if he dominated the city. _Radioactive blast!_ (A phrase of annoyance he preferred because of the "radioactive" inflection making it much more potent than, say, a gunpowder blast.)

Sometimes he hated his own logic.

Well, he supposed, one step at a time. Victory dance first, with a discussion about the city and Roxanne after. There, that sounded like a good plan.

And in thinking about her, he'd asked after her every time Minion had come to visit, usually in code, but sometimes practically word-for-word. _"Oh, so you're corroborating my story with Miss Ritchi? And what does _she_ say about it?"_ So far he'd learned that she was extremely reluctant to talk about her relationship with Scott or anything that happened between them, but she _was_ looking forward to being free of him. Megamind wasn't sure what opinion to garner from that; mostly he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know all the bloody details. But at the same time, wouldn't it help if she talked about it?

He knew her, after all. She never bottled things up. It was her habit to vent, to blow on occasion. The very fact that she was bottling up at all left him unnerved, expecting another breakdown from her at any time. Which, he admitted, would probably break his heart to witness. It'd almost crushed him to see the first time.

However, from what Minion had informed him, she was holding up well, doing much better than the last kidnapping. That gave him hope that she wasn't truly broken; she just needed a tune-up. And maybe a really good scrubbing to get all the grime off her.

He had to stop himself there. Imagining Roxanne as a car was starting to weird him out.

The two aliens gave the plan one more once-over, and Megamind was pleased to see how well it was all set up. Minion had outdone himself this time — everything was as flawless as he needed it to be. Then the two of them split, Minion taking off to go fetch Miss Ritchi, while Megamind headed to the control room. He turned on the monitors, sat back, and watched the news. He didn't have to wait long for Roxanne's face to show up on screen, ready for her live coverage of the event.

He tilted his head at her image. She was wearing what he thought was a dress, but without a full-body capture, he couldn't be sure. He _could_ see that the fabric was dark blue, shiny (satin?) and had a single strap over her left shoulder. When she moved, it even seemed to glitter a bit, fascinating him as he wondered how this was done. What appeared to be strings of diamonds hung from her ears, falling an inch at most.

With a smile that would have looked natural, had he not been aware of her dire situation, she said, "Good afternoon, Metro City! I'm here in downtown, flanked by hundreds of thousands of citizens for the opening of the Metro Man Museum. Today we give homage to the man who's been caring for us, fighting for us, watching us and loving us for the past decade: Metro Man. He's been giving us safety and warmth all this time, and now, it's our turn to give something back, praying that he'll continue to help us for another ten years. May we never be forced to say goodbye. This is Roxanne Ritchi reporting live from the dedication of the Metro Man Museum."

For a few moments there, her words sounded so sincere that he started to get jealous and angry, his mood souring. And then that end — had anyone else heard it? Her tone was smug during that _goodbye_ part, like she knew she was lying. He couldn't bite back the evil laugh that bubbled up from his chest, feeling just a little bit like he was showing her the dark side of life and finding she liked it. He regained composure after a minute, breathing deep breaths to calm himself.

The tension was high in the lair, more so while he was alone. It felt like _everything_ was riding on this plot. In the past, tension had always been present, but not nearly to this extent. It was always just a simple pressure and excitement, wondering if _this time_ it would work. Now his nerves were tied up tighter than even a PDI SS5000 spring could take without snapping (he'd tested its resilience before, so he knew this for a fact).

Once the live feed cut out, showing a helicopter view of the museum and crowd, he knew it'd only be a matter of time before Minion came back with Roxanne. He was itching to see her again — he normally was, of course, but since what happened last time, it became worse.

He couldn't actively think about it while working out the Death Ray schematics, but now he had free time. The memories of her actions — all of them — swamped him. He could think about a dozen things at once, less if he concentrated on a few. This allowed him to analyze everything he could remember in a fraction of the time it would take a human to do so, or even Minion.

Right now, however, the only thing that had his focus was her kisses. Now that he had the time to think about it in length, he found it disturbed him to an extent. He'd done his best to be tender with her when the moment began, but now he realized how reluctant and careful _she'd _been. The way she'd clung to him clearly declared how much she'd needed him, at contrast with the way she held back a fraction of a second between each kiss, as if she wasn't sure this was what she wanted.

It stung a little, but he couldn't blame her. She'd been going mad from the inside out for who knew how long, which meant her reactions could hardly be deemed reasonable. He understood now that she'd been struggling to regain her reasoning with each second, but only managed to grasp it again when Minion had interrupted them. He wondered if she'd been doing so out of instinct rather than conscious thought. It seemed more logical, given her situation; a part of her knew she wasn't acting like herself and was doing its best to set things right.

In the end, this meant he couldn't expect a repeat performance, given she had since regained her composure. At least on the outside, she was Miss Ritchi again, rather than the half-crippled woman he'd been introduced to three weeks prior.

Though this soured his mood a little, thinking how he likely wouldn't get another chance to be intimate with her, at the same time, he was glad. He'd at least made some headway with her, and he counted his blessings for it. He could be patient with her from now on. He could show her who he really was and hope against hope that she liked what she learned.

Before all that, however, he had a hero to kill.

He jumped to his feet when he heard the car return, excited to see her (and see her reaction to _him_) but forcing himself to remain in place. He could see the car from here, watched as Minion got out, then pulled her out. Rather than carry her over his shoulder, bound and bagged, he carried in his arms without any bindings. _Still unconscious._ It was pitiful how disappointed the villain felt. He could see her outfit clearly now: it was indeed a dress, hugging her tightly down to her knees with a crisscrossing pattern at the waist, with high heels that strapped across her toes and heels and circled her ankles in a matching shade on her feet.

The two headed for the lift to the upper room. It was recently-built, and up to specifications on the inside. To anyone brought in without having seen the outside first, it would appear to be the interior of the observatory. This was required for appearance's sake; though he had no doubt Roxanne would willingly "reveal" to Metro Man that she was in the observatory, he needed it to also look like she discovered it on her own. That was part of the reason why he hadn't informed her of this part of the plan — they both had to go along with the game. They knew the rules.

He kidnaps her, she blurts out their location, Metro Man heads there. Steps one, two, and three.

At least he didn't see a need to go through the usual pre-battle fights over complexity, villainy and pointlessness. His plan no longer included trying to "scare" her into calling out for her hero. He chose instead to check on her, make sure she was holding up well, and then call Metro Man. By then they should both be back in their respective roles.

She started to stir when the lift reached the topmost floor, and he spun to see her, unsure if it would be appropriate to touch her. In all of their past interactions, _this_ would be the point where she was put in the chair and he would get ready to introduce himself in the most villainous manner possible. Instead, he and Minion both watched her as she began moving, then opened her eyes.

She blinked twice in confusion before comprehension filtered in. "Minion," she greeted, then flicked her eyes to him. "Megamind."

Megamind stepped back as Minion set her down, replying, "Miss Ritchi. How are you feeling?"

A laugh escaped her lips, and he ate it up, relaxing. Offering him her usual amused smirk, she said, "Immediately? A little dizzy, but that's the spray's fault."

He frowned. "It makes you dizzy? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Oh, I don't know, because the damsel doesn't usually mention such things?" she teased. "Besides, think about it. I say, 'By the way, that spray has an after-effect.' You say. . ?"

He saw where this was going and sighed. " 'Too bad, so sad. Deal with it.' Okay, I see your point."

"And glad it is to be seen," she quipped, nudging him as she walked by.

The move surprised him. Was that a. . .playful move? He'd given Minion brotherly shoves before, and the fish had given shoves back, but for her to do so as well. . . Was it possible the nudge was just another way for her to pretend to be normal? A move she made to convince herself she was okay with everything?

He glanced at Minion, who gave a noncommittal shrug, and then he went to follow her. She looked around the room, discovering where she was no doubt, then settled on the obvious control panel. Once he was next to her, she began pointing at the levers.

"Trap door, gatling gun, flamethrower, drills, spiked boots, buzz saw," she named off. Looking sideways at him, she added, "Right?"

He was surprised. No way did she know him _that_ well. "Right," he agreed, dumbfounded. "How did you know all that?"

She shrugged. "I pay attention."

"Nosy reporter," he muttered.

"Heard that."

He couldn't bite back a smirk. _Of course she did._ "So," he said, squaring his shoulders, "now that we can actually _talk_ in some measure of relaxation, anything to report?"

"Hah, funny," she said. "Asking the reporter to report."

He actually hadn't made that connection, but shrugged as if it went without say. He was a master of bluffs, after all. "Regardless, you know what I'm asking."

In an instant, her face turned bleak and she looked off to the side. She didn't answer.

Suddenly his harmless question didn't seem so harmless. "Roxanne —" he started.

She held up a hand, cutting him off, then took a deep breath and looked back at him. "Look, I understand what you're doing. And _why_. But I'm not. . .ready to talk about. . .things," she explained. "It's always painful to think about and right now I'm hanging on by a thread anyhow. Too much is riding on this to succeed - we need to stay focused, both of us."

"I agree," he cut in, "but you know if —"

"No, stop," she stressed. "If you want to talk about this, we can talk about it _after_." She didn't have to explain after _what_. "I know I owe you answers, especially after all you're doing for me. Both of you," she added with a grateful smile to Minion, whom grinned back. "But right now, I can't let myself think about it. I'll just — I'll just snap. Even I can only take so much."

He listened, absorbing the information as it came. Then he stepped closer, lifted his hands to cup her face, and replied quietly, "Believe me when I say you won't have to take it anymore. And you don't owe me anything. You're the only person I've ever wanted to help, and it comes free of charge."

Her lips turned up in a smile again. Though her eyes appeared more moist, she didn't look like she was going to cry, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. Like she'd done the last time he'd touched her, she reached up and caught his hands, lowering them until their arms hung but their fingers remained entwined. For a long moment she was speechless, just smiling at him. His own personal world gradually shrank down until it was just the two of them. _Evil God below, she's so incredible and beautiful. . ._

Just as he started to have thoughts about leaning in and angling his head, Minion burst through the metaphorical edges of his personal world with a single sentence:

"Sir? It's time."

_Minion, for a fantastic fish, sometimes I hate you._

He took a step back, breaking the magic of the moment. Roxanne headed for the chair, allowing Minion to bind her before he guided her to sit down.

_Here goes everything._

"The brainbots are in place?" he checked.

"Ready to go, sir," Minion agreed.

He reached out and pressed a button, then began counting in his head. _Fourteen. . .fifteen. . .sixteen. . ._ He had an evil laugh starting as the screen flickered to life, showing a good shot of an irritated Metro Man with the majority of the city behind him. Metro Man had a microphone in his hand, and he lifted into the air to face against the projection of Megamind.

The game had been strained since their last confrontation, but Metro Man seemed appeased enough by the events of the previous weeks to play his part. "Megamind!" he sneered. The crowd, ever following his lead, began to boo and curse.

Mocking as best he could, Megamind clapped. "Oh, bra-vo, Metro Man." At the continued heckling of the crowd, he added, "Yes, exactly! _Booooooo_. Oh you mindless citizens love to hate me, don't you?"

Metro Man spoke up then, "I should have known you'd try something. Where's Roxanne?"

Straight to business. Maybe he wasn't quite as appeased as Megamind had assumed. "Oh, she's safe for the time being," he threw in carelessly, pressing a button so she showed up on a second projection. "But I can't say she'll stay that way. You will _leave_ Metrosity, Metro Man, or she'll die." That was his biggest bluff of all. Everyone in the room knew it — Metro Man didn't.

Wayne's pupils began to glow. "Roxie, just stay calm," he advised. "I'll be there soon."

"I'm calm," she said.

Megamind pantomimed examining his nails through his gloves. "If you want to save her, you'll have to find me first," he hinted.

"We're at the abandoned observatory," Roxanne rushed out.

"No, we're not!" Megamind snapped, floundering with the controls to shut off her feed. It was too late; Metro Man had already taken off.

"Ha!" Roxanne crowed. "Foiled already!"

He spun to look at her with an evil smirk. "Is that so?" he remarked, smug both for sure and for show. "What gives you that idea?"

"It's a little thing called _pattern recognition_, look into it," she hinted, then ducked down, anticipating a crash. Or at least she mimed like she was anticipating a crash. After several seconds of nothing but silence, she plastered on a confused look, beginning to glance around. Her expression clearly read, _What's going on?_

"Oh, good heavens," Megamind sighed, pulling on a lever that opened the "observatory" doors. "You didn't think you were in the _real_ observatory, did you?" he asked, gesturing to where the true observatory was on a hill a few miles out like a showgirl revealing a new car.

She stared out the doors with a shocked face.

He spun to Minion. "Ready the Death Ray!" Minion repeated the order, pulling on a lever of his own, while Megamind practically danced back to the controls and camera, pressing a button.

"Over here, old friend," he mocked. Metro Man was in the real observatory, and he glared up at the new projection of Megamind. "In case you haven't noticed, you've fallen right into my trap."

It seemed Metro Man was in no mood for their banter now. "It doesn't matter how clever of a trap you've put together. You can't keep me from Roxie. I'll give you one chance to reveal where you are, Megamind, and then I'm going to hunt you down."

Megamind tisked. "Well, if you're not going to play the game, I guess we'll just skip straight to the final score." Which was just fine with him, really. The sooner he could kill Metro Man, the better. He pointed at Minion and yelled, "_Fire!_"

Minion pressed the big red _fire_ button. Metro Man braced himself, and a beam of light hit the observatory in the next instant. The video feed cut out, and Megamind made a hasty jump to the side to watch the destruction through the open doors. _Boom!_ An explosion rocked the lair, the observatory erupting in huge clouds of fire as the beam of light thickened. Wind barreled into him, pushing him back, even as Minion joined him. When the next explosion came, it was more powerful than the first, making both aliens skid back as they tried to keep their balance.

Megamind took one step to put himself in front of the tied-down Roxanne, and Minion did the same, protecting both the lady and his boss from whatever debris might come flying in. Somehow, in this short series of events, a third wave shook the lair, forcing Megamind to be blasted back. He hit Roxanne's legs, struggling to fend off the stronger winds. And then, at last, the shockwaves ended.

He released a huge, pent-up breath, hearing Roxanne do the same. Minion stumbled closer to the doors, saying aloud, "I don't see how he could've survived _that_. . ."

Megamind got to his wobbly feet, stumbled, threw a glance at Roxanne, then headed for his fish friend. "Let's. . .not get our hopes up just yet," he replied in stun — because he couldn't imagine Metro Man surviving either. If the copper had melted and become acidic as he intended for it to do, then just maybe. . .

"No," Roxanne breathed.

He saw it, too: a form of white lifting from the rising flames and smoke of the observatory — what remained of it. The figure halted in midair, then dove straight for them.

Megamind normally wasn't one for expletives, especially the more vulgar ones, but his rage and frustration grew so large it needed an outlet. "_Fuck!_" he cried, throwing up his hands. Would this never end? He'd put so much work into this plan, so much hard thought, so much hope and determination and will and time and energy — and yet, Metro Man lived!

Minion backed up quickly. "Sir, I'm sorry, I. . ."

He didn't blame Minion — for anything. "Get out of here!" he urged his lifelong friend, backing from the doors as the figure neared.

And as Minion darted for the lift, he heard the fish whisper to Roxanne, "Endure." In seconds the lift was lowered, Minion with it, and Metro Man — in all his hated, hero glory — slammed on the ground, eyes red and glaring.

Megamind had a little personal victory as he noted how torn and ruffled the other alien looked. The acid and Death Ray combination had hurt him quite a bit; he was beat red across his cheeks, his hair and cape singed and giving off wisps of smoke, one glove mostly missing — there was even a burn on his forehead. But no acid remained on him, and Megamind realized his mistake: if the ray had indeed caused the copper to become acid, then it had also managed to burn out the compound, effectively washing it from the hero.

Metro Man took a single step forward, Megamind holding his ground, and then Roxanne interrupted what could have very well been an exchange bathed in blood.

"Wayne!" she gasped, relief suffusing her tone. Metro Man switched his gaze to her. "You're alive! God, this time — I was so scared," she half-sobbed.

Megamind outright refused to believe her words, even as he became aware of what was now taking place. As soon as she'd begun speaking, she'd distracted Scott completely. His eyes no longer glowed, and he seemed to brush off Megamind as not worth his notice, heading for her. It was then that Megamind understood - she was purposely drawing Scott to her. Away from _him_. Whatever reasoning was going on in her head, she was doing what she could to get Scott's attention, saving Megamind's very life in the process.

_Wrong,_ he thought, spinning on his heel to see the two. This was backwards — two kinds of backwards, even. Megamind was trying to save Roxanne from Metro Man; Metro Man was trying to save her from Megamind; she was trying to save Megamind from Metro Man.

She kept going on as Metro Man walked to her, "When you were still there when it hit, I feared. . . But you're alive! But — but hurt," she said, seeming to realize it. She tugged on her bonds. "Get me out of this!" she demanded.

Wayne moved much more quickly then, breaking the ropes on her ankles then wrists with tugs at them. Crouched before her, she fell into his arms, clutching at him, continuing to worry over his state of being, even as he began consoling her.

The seed of hatred, already well-sprouted, grew within Megamind. He hated this scene more than anything else he'd ever known. Seeing her like that, practically throwing herself to the wolves, knowing full well there would be no escape. A part of him kept trying to gain some warmth from the fact that she was doing it to save _him_, but there was far too much cold, searing, immovable loathing for that. Thoughts began running through his head, violent ones of ways he could kill the luckiest man on Earth. Invulnerable, power of flight, super senses — and _Roxanne Ritchi, _the most fantastic, unbelievable woman in the world, were all _Wayne Scott's._ And the super-powered paragon of perfection was breaking her, bit by bit.

Her engagement ring caught a beam of sunlight and glittered against the back of his neck. Megamind saw it as a manacle. Then she peeked over Scott's shoulder, met his gaze, and a look of pure pain passed between them.

She drew back to look Wayne in the eyes, stroking his cheeks. _How she manages to give him such a heartfelt look of relief. . ._

Megamind could take no more. "_A-hem!_" he barked. Metro Man twisted, Roxanne still perched on his lap, to glare. "If you two are quite finished making me sick. . ?" he prompted.

A muscle jumped in Metro Man's jaw, and in time with the twitch, Roxanne straightened just a bit, giving a sharp inhale. He didn't seem to notice as he bit out, "Just one more thing, Megamind." Still clearly displaying his fiancé, he leaned in and kissed her. She squeezed her eyes shut in reaction, while Megamind felt capable of crushing granite with his bare hands. He looked away, unable to bear seeing it, until the hero rose to his feet.

Megamind continued to glare silently, furiously thinking up the next plot already, while Scott set her down and headed his way. He didn't react the least bit when Scott lifted him by the front of his lightning-blazed outfit and snapped, "This is the last time you _ever_ take her from me, Megamind. Just once more and I will break your skull open and let scientists have their fill studying that brain you love so much."

"I hope you mean vivisection," Megamind retorted. "It's so pleasantly unpleasant."

"You won't find it so amusing when it happens, twerp."

Now _there_ was a word Megamind hadn't had associated with him since he was fifteen — when Scott began spending all his time with Roxanne. At that thought, he had a sudden epiphany, even as Metro Man carted him all the way back to his prison cell, leaving Roxanne behind to wait. It continued on as his villainous costume was stripped and replaced with the usual orange jumpsuit.

All of his past memories of her came with a feeling of tranquility, a few also amused or impressed or even aroused in some cases. But all of them included one steady, uninterrupted fact: the awareness that she watched him. He'd known about it for the entirety of their relationship, though he hadn't realized the full implications until now.

Over the stretch of a year, beginning in ninth grade, her expression as she watched him grew steadily more pained and pitying. Then, in early tenth grade, she changed herself completely, becoming the most attractive girl in school — in all ways. All the while, she kept vying for Scott's attention. At the time, when he was still Blue, he pined over what he believed was her growing an obsession with the human-headed alien. But that wasn't it at all. Scott had begun being kinder, under her influence, and his unfair punishments aimed at "Blue" had ceased.

To his complete shock, Megamind found that she'd been protecting him for _thirteen _of the fourteen years he'd known her. She'd gotten Scott's attention to focus on her, eventually becoming his point of obsession in the process. In one great big rush of insight, Megamind realized that he was responsible for her suffering.

If he hadn't acted out like he had. . .if he hadn't continued to misbehave. . .if he hadn't gained her pity. . .

Regret hit him like a battering ram, completely demolishing his outlook. For a few moments, as he sat in his barren swivel chair, he couldn't remember how to breathe. All of her pain, all of her anguish, her despair and depression and fear, _all of it_, was his fault. Every bruise, every tear, every lost glimmer from her eyes, every last bit of her spark that had died down. . .

His memories of her previous breakdowns, shined in this new light, tore him apart. She had latched onto him as if he could save her from her personal demon, and yet _he'd_ been the one to cause it. All these years he spent kidnapping her, _using_ her as bait even as he reveled in her presence, was a cruelty worse than anything he could have conjured up on his own. She truly was an incredible actress to be able to smile at him today, knowing full well that he was the one who triggered every shred of her torture.

What a messed-up, twisted triangle the three of them made. They all seemed to be tormenting one another in some way, though only Scott was as impervious against this form of pain as he was against the real thing. Somehow the man managed to beat down both Megamind and Roxanne, all the while the two of them were tearing at each other.

Despair sank into him, knowing without a doubt that his bright fantasies with Roxanne would never come to be. It wasn't her fault, really; who could possibly love the reason behind ten years of torture?

It took him the rest of the night to come to grips with this unyielding truth, and then he started to plot.

Today, he'd said she didn't owe him anything, and he was right. If anything, he owed _her_ — he owed her a life. Her own life. Away from Scott and well-protected to counter the odds placed against her. She'd missed out on the prime years of her life because she'd tried to protect a blue-skinned boy who didn't deserve her mercy, and he'd spend the rest of _his_ life doing everything he could to set it right.

He wouldn't fool himself into thinking he could ever earn her forgiveness or possibly make it up to her. The most he could do now was offer her a way out of the hellhole she'd been forced to occupy.

When this morning began, he'd thought — in his foolish interpretation of the word — that he was as determined as he could be. He'd been wrong. Now he was looking at things from a brand new perspective, and it was offering him glimmers of insight he'd never seen before. He likened it to what would happen if one were looking through one side of a curved glass, then flipped it around. Whether it broadened or narrowed was irrelevant; either way, one was now seeing things that had been unnoticed before.

And he began to think that he was going about this from the wrong angle. Roxanne was the bait, Scott was the target. The goal was to kill the man to free the woman.

That was about to change.

* * *

Note: I noticed something as I began writing this. I've completely overlooked Megamind's habit of mispronouncing things. I guess because this is such a serious type of story, and the mispronounces are kind of juvenile. It's hard to find a good word for him to stumble over and harder to find a good place for it, so I've decided to stick with _Metrosity_, and if any others pop up that I can find a place for, I'll put it in.

This. Chapter. Gave me so much trouble. I can't even. Begin. Just. Trouble.

At the time I uploaded this chapter, I had 73 reviews. And I've compared it to other fanfics, both mine and in the Megamind section. It's incredible! I don't know how this monster got so popular so fast, but 73 reviews at three chapters averages out to be 24 reviews per chapter, and each chapter has roughly 7,000 words (including my little notes). _That's outstanding!_ And insane, in a good way. I have a few popular fics (and by 'popular', I mean 100+ reviews at completion) but this. . .this takes the cake. Probably because I've never loved my own work more than I love this. Not even my original stories get this much love from mommy. . .

Megamind fandom, I love you. Thank you everyone for all the fantastic reviews, the praise, the pleads, the hopes, even the critiques! I'm totally blown away.

Next Chapter: John Warden investigates Megamind's watch, and discovers something shocking. . .then brings in Roxanne to question her.


	5. You Promised

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_5. You Promised_

* * *

That entire night, Roxanne spent her time placating and _treating_ the beast. She cooed over his wounds as she dabbed at them with cotton balls, she talked on and on about how happy she was that he was alive, and she stroked his face with the backs of her fingers. And she detested every second of it.

In truth, she was both heavily disappointed and insanely impressed. A part of her never believed Wayne could ever be killed, but he _had_ sustained injuries — physical injuries! And a part of her had been so desperate to see him die that it was painful to see him still alive. At least this way she hadn't had to fake her panic; she'd just had to redirect it.

_Endure,_ Minion had said. Well, she was _trying_, but it was getting much harder. Her despair was clawing at her, doing its best to get a solid grip and pull her under, where she would drown. Fighting such an opponent was getting exhausting, and she knew it wouldn't be long before she became overwhelmed. She'd had such high hopes today, such a will to see it done, that she'd managed to be bright and cheerful all morning and afternoon. And now the hope was gone, pummeled into dust and scattered to the wind.

_Why can't it end?_

"I told you," he said as she put a bandage over his burn, "that I would always come for you. Death wouldn't have stopped me."

She forced a smile. "You've never broken your word yet." _Except your word to never hurt me again._ "Are you hurt anywhere else?" she queried.

He caught her hand, pressing it to his chest over his heart. She stared at the appendage with a twinkling of fear, knowing how easily he could shatter every bone in her hand. When he said, "Here," she focused a little harder. His heartbeat felt different. Usually it was very strong, sometimes capable of making his entire body seem to pulse. Now it was more faded, as if he was. . .

Was. . .

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a split second, she forgot that she was supposed to appear concerned about this, instead aware of her own shock and a rising sense of hope. Then she masked it, asking in earnest, "Is your heart okay?"

He inhaled shakily, then shook his head. "I think I breathed in some of that acid. Not much, but. . . It burned my lungs, then mixed in with my blood. It's everywhere now."

Needing to confirm this, she pulled her hand free, then ducked her head to press her ear to his chest. His arms, as hot and heavy as ever, went around her, and somehow she managed to ignore it as she listened. The beat quickened a little when she got nearer, but otherwise it was weak and stuttered a lot. The word _weak_ being applied to him in any form left her dumbfounded.

She reared back, hurting herself as she collided with his arms, but not caring. "Is it. . .going to heal?" she wondered, trying to sound worried and not eager.

He shrugged a shoulder. "I've never been injured before. I don't know." He met her eyes, pleading with a look. "Look, Roxie, I know this is a lot to ask for. . .I know how scared you get. . . But I'd like you to sleep with me tonight."

_Fuck no,_ was her immediate thought. She squashed it down before it could be spoken. Of course he'd want this; he was being faced with his own mortality. She'd probably reach out to the person she loved in the same situation. The difference between them was that she'd never force anyone to do so, and she wouldn't even ask it of someone she knew didn't love _her_.

_I don't love you, Wayne. I used to, when you were kinder to me. But no more._

She glanced away and rubbed her arm. "I don't. . .know, Wayne. You know how bad that turns out."

"Is it so much to ask?" he demanded, voice hardening.

She winced. "It could be. I mean, what if the pain makes you twitch? What if your hand is on my neck when it does? You could snap my neck."

He made a sound of frustration. "I know the risks!"

"But are you considering them?" she shot back.

He stood up. That single motion caused the stool he'd been sitting on to snap through two legs. It toppled over, he towered over her, and he said, "When have I _ever_ failed to consider your well-being? You know how I love you!"

"That's exactly the problem, Wayne!" she returned as she took a hurried step back. "You're under the impression that because you love me, I'll forgive you every time you hurt me! You think because you love me, you have rights to me! That's not how it works!"

"Then tell me how it _does_ work!" he yelled, thrusting his arms wide.

Out of reflex, she ducked, just in case an errant swing came her way — or debris from something he smashed. "I need space!" she cried, backing up further. He followed. "You're so overwhelming — do you even realize how much you're smothering me?"

He stopped, breathing raggedly now. "What happened?" he demanded. "What is this? This last _month_ you've been loving me like you've never done before. Now — now I'm smothering you? You were clinging to me!"

"It's confusing, I know!" she admitted. "But — things change, that's how it goes! Nothing —"

"Things _change?_" he bellowed, bearing down on her.

It was just like when she was tormented at school all those years ago; she was trapped, overpowered, with no way out. . .only this time, no one could save her. A flicker of a memory arose: _you can't save me, Mr. Warden — remember that you can trust me_. Her hope of surviving this encounter was slim to nil, but she clung to the last shred like a lifeline.

"You promised," he was saying, "you promised me you would never change!"

"Maybe it's _you_ who's changed!" she yelled back at him. What lingering strength she'd soaked up from being around Megamind and Minion today was expelled in that last remark, and she instantly shrank back, hitting a wall and sliding down it. Her heart was pounding, wondering if she'd just done herself in.

After a moment of shock, he tossed his head back and roared, a sound of pure fury. She clamped her hands down on her ears at the sound, and then he bolted, knocking the metal door to the sanctuary clean off its hinges. It ricocheted from the force of his exit, bounding down the hall until it slammed onto the ground, leaving behind a multitude of dents and unbearable clangs.

She started to hyperventilate, realizing that she was probably going into shock at this point. She had _never_ seen him that angry before. Her heart had never beat this rapidly, and she had never been so scared in her life. Funny; she thought she'd been almost totally drained of emotion after spending so long trapped in his vice, and yet she still managed to break her record in fear.

Her sight turned fuzzy after a minute, so she laid down, curling up on her side. _He was gone. It was okay now._ But it wasn't. There may be acid doing a number on his inner organs and blood circulation — he was still powerful enough to burst through metal and move at speeds she couldn't follow with her eyes. In all likelihood he could still hear and see as great as usual. For all she knew he was watching and listening to her now.

A sob tried to force its way out of her throat; she swallowed it back down. Her eyesight was getting worse, darkening little by little. Soon there were glitters filtering in and out. She shut her eyes; the sparkles remained. Her ears began ringing. In no time, she was unconscious.

And happier this way.

A dreamless void had her prisoner — happily so — for a long time before she began to awaken. It was to the sound of her phone ringing. For a moment she floundered for it, trying to find it where she'd left it on her nightstand, before she realized she was on the floor. Her breath caught in her throat, stunned at the memory of the previous night as it came to her. The phone stopped ringing as she struggled to regain composure.

She'd spent the night sleeping on the floor? She patted where she normally had a pocket, only to realize she was still in yesterday's dress. Trying to focus on the phone distracted her from yesterday's event, so she looked around, got up, spotted it on the table, and retrieved it.

_27 missed calls. _

Her eyes widened at the number. She flipped through them, noting how they all came from the same number, one she didn't recognize. No name. And all within the past two hours. It was 6:42am now. _Who would call her 27 times since before five-a-m? _

It started ringing again, making her jump. _Minion?_ she wondered, dazedly. She answered it. "Hello?" _Let it be Minion. Megamind's gotten out again, they can't find me, Metro Man is dead in a river somewhere. . ._

"Miss Ritchi," came a deep, rough, and wholly relieved voice. "This — this is John Warden. I've been trying to reach you since —"

"Two hours ago, yeah, I saw," she interrupted, deflating. What did he want now? "I was asleep. Like a _sane_ person." The irony behind that comment burned her.

"I thought as much. I only called you so many times because I don't know how else to reach you."

"Okay, what is this about? I'm confused." She sat down on the couch.

"I want you to come down to the police precinct on 73rd street."

Damn, not the morgue to identify a body. "Why?"

"To question you about your involvement with Megamind's escape yesterday."

Her eyes widened. _No._ He'd made the connection? Deciphered the code? "I — don't know what you expect me to know," she tried, having trouble lying on the spot.

"Come down. I'll meet you there. This isn't a request." He hung up.

For a long moment, she remained as she was, holding the cell to her ear. And then, with gradually-increasing speed, she lowered the phone, rose, and headed for the bedroom to get dressed in something fresh. _Down to the precinct. . .question. . .Megamind's escape. . ._ The words kept repeating themselves in her mind. Without thought, she pulled on jean shorts and a yellow tank top that was just short enough to bare a strip of her midriff. She didn't think about it as she put on her shoes and left.

As she walked to her car, she had a feeling like she was being watched. Most of the time, she _was_ being watched: by her beloved fiancé. But to feel it so clearly was unnerving, and she struggled not to look around in suspicion, climbing into the driver's seat. The entire drive to the precinct had her shaken, that feeling never leaving her for even an instant.

Suddenly going to the precinct, getting accused, and ultimately going to prison didn't sound like too terrible of an idea. . .

* * *

The moment Megamind had been put back in his cell, John faced off against the alien. He'd caught the entire exchange on the TV and noticed a tension that had never been present before. As soon as they witnessed Metro Man take off with Megamind, two things had occurred: first, a guard had come running to the cell to prepare it for Megamind's return, freeing the three trapped men in the process. And second, Roxanne had crumpled.

He was more worried about her now than ever. Which is why he'd banged on the window and blurted, "What did you do to her?"

Megamind turned a smoldering glare his way, but hadn't answered, sitting in his chair and swinging it around so the warden was presented with the back. His further demands had been met with silence. Determined to find answers, he'd spun on his heel and stalked to the security room. The recordings of Megamind's interviews of the past three weeks were clearly marked, and John had perused them many times, but could find nothing odd in the way they spoke.

He knew something was up. That reporter, Kevin Nolan, had checked out with his report, and his questions sounded legit. But John couldn't shake the feeling that more was happening than he'd noticed. He began watching them again, starting with Roxanne's interview just hours before Nolan had arrived. The guard on duty, Wilson, eyed him for a moment before returning his focus to the screens.

He hadn't been sitting there for half an hour before he was interrupted, his walkie-talkie crackling to life.

"Mr. Warden, sir?"

He pressed the button to reply, "What is it?"

"The evidence is all tagged and shelved."

"What was included?"

"A thirty-eighth villain costume —" the guard sighed "— his fourth pair of baby seal boots, and a watch."

John sat up straight. The watch. "Bring that watch to me," he ordered. "I'm in the security room."

"Yes, sir," the man agreed, knowing better than to question him.

Once the line cut out, John began fast-forwarding. _There_. Nolan. He froze the scene, then looked in closely, trying to recall what exactly the watch had looked like. In minutes a guard came in — Perkinson, he noted — with the watch in a plastic bag. He handed it over.

Breaking the rules about evidence, John tore open the bag and slipped out the watch. He examined it in detail, ignoring how Perkinson stuttered a protest, then put it on. He mimicked Megamind's move to twist the dial, and in an instant, it shimmered. He was now staring at a blue-skinned hand instead of his own, with an orange sleeve and pants in immediate sight.

Perkinson blurted, "Sir! That's — what?" Wilson was outright staring.

"A hologram," John answered, hearing his voice had also changed. He twisted it again and the false form went away. He looked back at the tapes, then began playing it frame-by-frame. His focus was entirely on the screen before him. As time dragged on with little progress, he began thinking they needed clearer footage — which meant better cameras, which in turn couldn't be done on the budget allotted to the prison.

Over an hour went by before he saw it: there, clearly displayed (for the grainy recording), was a watch on Nolan's wrist. It matched the one on John's wrist down to perfection. He froze the frame, staring for a full minute, before he kicked into gear again. He replaced the watch, sent it back down to the evidence storage, and began playing the tapes once more, from the top.

He'd never paid closer attention to them before. Now he did his damnedest to read beneath the lines, slowly catching on to the code they were using. And he came to realize that Nolan was Megamind's companion, Minion. It had to be — who else would see him regularly? The words they spoke took on a new meaning, and he began to pick up why they'd used so many numbers. It was schematics, some form of formula — something to that extent. Which, granted, was something John would never be able to decipher, but he knew it was all about the plot earlier.

And then he noticed how often the two mentioned Roxanne Ritchi, either directly or in their code. Confused by this, he paid attention to their words, beginning to write down notes for anything that stood out. At first he thought they were talking about the best way to scare her, then how to hurt her and how much. But then everything clicked and John had to pause the tape to think this through.

Megamind was asking if she was harmed, not because he wanted her to be, but because somehow it was critical to him. He. . .cared for her? John had never known the alien to care about more than two things: Minion, and ruling the city, not necessarily in that order. Sure, when he was younger, he cared about others' opinions of him and acceptance, but he'd long since rejected those notions.

Now that the warden had a grasp of the code, he stopped the current recording and played the interview with Roxanne. Following the rules, he noted that the code was much the same between _them_. Not only was Megamind clearly worrying over her underneath his spoken words, but she was replying back! Megamind began informing her of his plan to escape, and she was agreeing with it, seeming to promise to inform Minion at the earliest opportunity.

_No._ She was _helping_ him.

John always knew there was more going on behind the scenes of the kidnappings and skirmishes, but he never would have guessed that she was in league with Megamind. Maybe that's what she meant by saying she couldn't be saved; somehow she was engaged with Metro Man while being some kind of ally of Megamind's. But how far did it go? How much was she involved? Did she play her part as the damsel willingly, _trying_ to lure Metro Man to his death?

He couldn't shake the idea that this was some huge, complex plot of Megamind's. The alien had shown his brilliance in manipulation a lot over the past years, and he wouldn't put it past the villain to be able to bend Miss Ritchi to his will. Yet he'd never appeared to be trying to do so.

This couldn't be coincidence. All the evidence wrapped together in a tight-fitting package, too strong now to be ignored. He couldn't expect to take anyone to court with it, but he had enough now to have reason to question Roxanne Ritchi herself.

It wasn't until he leaned back and rubbed at his eyes that he became aware of how much time had passed. He looked at the clock. Almost one in the morning. He groaned, already knowing the tirade he was going to get from his wife when he got back home.

He started back to his office, throwing his pad of notes on the desk, to ready himself to leave. Then, abruptly, he felt _old_ and laid his head down on his folded arms on the desk. He was too old for all-nighters, that was certain. Too old for all this pen-and-paper investigative work. His muscles ached from sitting still for so long, and though he knew better than to relieve the tension before getting in bed, he began to relax.

He fell asleep right where he was. Which, he would admit later, was better than falling asleep at the wheel on his way home.

The moment he woke up, he was dreading the conversation with his wife over this. She hated nothing more than when he worked himself too hard. _Crap._

He pushed himself up and glanced at the clock. Just after four. A peek out the window showed a cloudy morning, the sky lightening but no sunlight visible yet. He heaved a sigh. What to do now? Well, first thing, he had to console his wife. Second, he'd planned to contact Miss Ritchi today and get to questioning her. So he made the rounds, spending almost a half hour calming down his wife and convincing her he hadn't died last night and neither was he working himself to death.

That last part _might_ have been a lie.

Then he called up Roxanne, not surprised when he got her voicemail — it wasn't quite five yet. Deciding he didn't want to tip her off in case she would run, he left no message. Instead, he decided to stretch his coiled muscles, frowning a little deeper at each pop that declared his age. _Two for every decade._

When he walked out of the office, he noticed a flurry of activity around him. Guards were bustling, gossiping, and the prisoners were part of it. Never had he seen such verbal chaos in his prison before. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he let out a sharp whistle, freezing everyone in place. "You — Thompson," he demanded of the guards nearest him. "Why is my prison so disorderly?"

"S-sir," Thompson replied, hurrying over. "There's rumors that Metro Man's. . .dying. It's everywhere. Calling for him received no answers, the news's beginning doing reports on it, it's spreading like wildfire!"

John stared hard at the younger guard for a long moment. Then he kicked into gear. "That's enough gossip. Back to your posts. This is no reason to lose your minds. Prisoners, listen up! This is no excuse for you to misbehave. Any acting out or breaking of the rules will still result in punishment or time in solitary." He glared around at the men surrounding him, then barked, "I mean _now!_"

Everyone scurried to do as told. In no time everything was back in order.

But now John was far more unsettled than before. He wouldn't be leaving now — not yet. He headed right back to his office and, being too wired to sit, called up Roxanne again while pacing. He _needed_ answers, as soon as possible. Because this could very well be the ultimate ending to Megamind's greatest plot, and if he was right, then Miss Ritchi was in on it. Maybe Metro Man was just slowing down, or taking a break, and the media circus was playing it up as they usually did, but either way he still needed the truth.

No answer. _Figures._ She was probably sleeping soundly, knowing all this was going on and pleased with it. He'd never disliked the woman before, and the last thing he wanted was to become suspicious of her, but really — if Blue could turn from an insecure, eager boy to a bad, outspoken terror in one day, it wasn't hard to imagine that even someone with as much strength as she could turn around as well.

He kept calling, pacing all the while, until she answered. He was relieved to hear her sound confused rather than smug; maybe she _didn't_ know about the rumors yet. She didn't sound much different from the last time he'd spoken to her — except that her tone changed when he mentioned questioning her. _She's hiding something._ Again. She knew something big, he was sure of it. He didn't want to jump to the conclusion that she was allied with Megamind and purposely trying to get Metro Man killed, but damn if he didn't fear she was.

He didn't give her the chance to back out, reminding her that he wasn't asking as a person — he was demanding as a warden.

He headed straight for the aforementioned precinct as soon as he hung up. He left Mencharez in charge of the prison while he was gone. And the whole way over, he was wracking his brain with questions, having to remind himself that he didn't know the full story. _Don't put the cart before the horse._ It was often stupid to assume, leading to a great many misunderstandings and mistakes.

She was there when he arrived, leaving him confused. Sure, the precinct was pretty far from the prison, but he'd had no idea where she lived was closer. Unless she was just faster.

He saw her from the back first, as she stood at the entrance desk, and immediately frowned. Of this side of her, he could see the back of her neck, a strip of flesh of her back, her arms, and her legs from mid-thigh down. And he could see bruises on her _everywhere_. Speckled across her thighs; three on her left arm; one on her calf; her back and neck. . . She looked like she'd been shot repeatedly with a paint gun.

She seemed to be talking to the officer behind the counter. John headed for them, catching her words, ". . .said I would meet him here. Do you —"

"I'm here, Miss Ritchi," he declared.

She looked over her shoulder. He found it odd that she didn't look startled; most people jumped when they were snuck up on. "Mr. Warden," she nodded. She tossed a glance back at the officer. "Thank you, Officer Glenn."

The officer — a younger man with cropped blonde hair — gave her a nod. "Anytime, Mrs. Scott."

John pierced the man with a glare. _She's not married yet. When was the last time you read the tabloids?_ With a completely different tone than his internal one, he said, "I need an interrogation room for at least an hour."

Glenn started typing on his computer. "Name?"

"Jonathon Warden, head of the Prison for the Criminally Gifted."

"The warden?" the man checked, then seemed to realize the irony of it all. With a smirk, he said, "Yes, there we are. Room seven is unoccupied, no schedule for today. I'll page O'Hanson to take you down." Finished typing, he lifted the phone and did so.

Once the two were seated, John began, "First, let's get concern out of the way. Why are you covered in bruises, Miss Ritchi? And don't give me another crock about a collision." From the front, he could also see her lip was swollen and two more bruises were visible on her upper arms.

She looked honestly surprised, glancing down to check herself. "I'm covered in bruises. . ?"

She hadn't noticed? Not even when she sat on one? Didn't they hurt? John already didn't like where this was going, because he could only see three possibilities: first, they _didn't_ hurt, as some bruises went; second, she had a high pain tolerance and just didn't notice; or third, she was so used to being in pain or blocking it out that she overlooked it.

If it were the third option. . . He considered his options with careful precision. It was possible that Megamind _was_ at fault — maybe this was his way of controlling her — since he did get his hands on her often and had her in his clutches only the previous afternoon. And then he began thinking about it from the other side. Could it be Metro Man's fault? The man _was_ obscenely powerful, so it went without say that he might harm even his bride-to-be on accident.

He was the most uneasy with the latter possibility. And he could see, as he watched her, that she wasn't going to answer. She was starting to show all the signs of physical abuse, he noted. Withdrawal, avoiding his gaze, not answering his questions, hiding secrets and lying.

So he said, "If you don't want to tell me why you're hurt, fine. It's at your discretion. But I _do_ need you to answer me about Megamind."

She met his gaze then, squarely, showing a level of defiance and determination he hadn't been expecting. For an abused woman, she was showing remarkable loyalty. "What would you like to know?" she asked.

Her tone was weak, he noted, but challenging. She was displaying a strength now that had been missing since the phone call. It was impossible, but somehow, it seemed she drew on Megamind for self-power. He was almost certain then - his previous theory was wrong. Regardless of whether or not the blue-skinned alien was manipulating her, he _wasn't _the one responsible for her abuse. If anything, it seemed she viewed him with respect and — need?

_Impossible._ But there it was.

He decided to start questioning her, then think on the answers one by one. "Were you aware of his plan of escape?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me," he warned. "Lying, now, _is_ hindering an investigation."

She narrowed her eyes. "Do you have any evidence, Mr. Warden?"

_Damn_ but she was a smart one. Though he supposed that was necessary to capture the notice of one such as Megamind. "I do," he answered truthfully. Regardless that he didn't have any faith that he could convince a jury with said evidence, he still had it.

"I'd like to see it."

"That's not at your discretion."

"Then tell me."

"Again, Miss Ritchi, not at your discretion."

"Then I'll just have to assume you're bluffing to get me to confess. Would this be the point where I call in a lawyer, or will we wait a few more minutes first?"

_Wily, quick-witted, clever vixen. _Too smart for her own good - she was now the second person he believed deserved that adage. And very possibly, she was allied with the other. This situation had all the makings of a five-star horror movie. Abuse, plots, good versus evil, grand battles, terrified civilians, the hero in jeopardy. . . In a way, Megamind and Metro Man were like Godzilla and Mothra.

He leaned in, deciding that if she wanted to play rough, he would oblige. "I have security footage of you talking to Megamind in code during your interview three weeks ago. In it, he tells you his plan for escape, and you agree — not only that it's a good idea, but to pass it on to Minion, his second." He paused for a moment, studying her, only to find she was unruffled. "Breaking out of prison is a felony, Miss Ritchi, and you're an accessory to it, if not a willing accomplice."

"And I suppose," she returned, "this is the part where you tell me I'm in knee-deep and give me my options. A, I plead not guilty, go to court, and take my chances. B, you offer me a deal. For my information regarding the break-out and any others I may have had a hand in, I get a slap on the wrist."

Her intimate knowledge of police proceedings had him unsettled, but he pushed on anyway. "No such luck," he disagreed. "We only offer deals to corroborators whose accomplices are still at large, provided the information helps apprehend them. You're on thin ice as it is, so I suggest you stop trying to give my lines _for_ me and start listening."

Now she leaned in, radiating an aura that was somehow both bleak and dangerous. "Mr. Jonathon Warden, I've been drowning in this particular river for years. There's nothing you can say that will scare me."

"A year in solitary," he brandished immediately, knowing how harrowing that thought was to anyone who knew what solitary was like.

"A reprieve," she countered without batting an eye.

_Definitely abused._ The only reason why anyone ever _welcomed_ solitary was when it was considered a safe haven from someone else. Oftentimes it was someone who scared or bullied the person in question, to the point where the sightless, soundless loneliness of being in a cell with no windows or lights was something to look forward to.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he tried again. "Let me say this in another way. There are rumors going around that Metro Man is dying." At that, her eyes widened, shock filtering in. "Which, from what I can tell, is a direct result of Megamind's attempt to murder him. It's now a case of trying to save a man from death - this city's defender, no less, who often helps the rest of the world when necessary." She looked away. He frowned at her reaction, deciding to try another tactic. "Your fiancé is dying. If you have any love for him at all —"

Without looking, she slapped her hand down on his. She was tense, shaking in tiny increments, and her fingers began to clench around his. Was this it? He'd gotten her to crack? He must have hit a nerve, he realized, for her to reach out like she was. He moved his hand to grip hers more securely, watching her for any signs or signals she may send his way. After a few moments, she seemed to take in some of his composure, lifting her head.

She didn't release his hand, but she _did_ meet his gaze. "You don't know what you're saying. Not to me. Now. . .I once promised you that if I ever felt I needed your help, I would ask for it." The weight of her words hit him, and his focus sharpened. Was this it? The mystery? "And you told me if I was in trouble, I could trust you. I need to be able to trust you now, Mr. Warden — but more than that, I need you to trust _me_."

He squeezed her hand in a reassuring manner. "You have it, Roxanne," he said, hoping the use of her first name would help.

She nodded. "I can't tell you everything. In fact I can tell you very little. . .for my sake, for yours, for Megamind's." _But not Metro Man's_. "Yes. I helped Megamind with his escape. Very little, but enough to be prosecuted as an accessory to the crime. And before you ask, yes, I was also in on the plot to murder Metro Man. There are reasons for this I can't give you. And I do need. . .help," she admitted, and he could hear how much it cost her to say the words. "But the only one who _can_ help me. . ." She paused there, seeming to will him to understand.

It wasn't Metro Man she needed. It was Megamind. He couldn't begin to comprehend how this switch-up had occurred, so he trusted that it must have been something _very_ monumental.

"Right now, I'm asking you — not as a criminal, but as someone in trouble — to prosecute me. Use the charges you have. I'll confess. Put me in prison."

He was shocked at this point. How had things possibly turned so desperate for her that she _wanted_ to go to prison? Around the denials trying to escape, he choked out, "Wh-which prison? The women's prison?"

She shook her head. "I'd prefer being at _your_ prison."

"For the criminally gifted?" he checked, as if she'd forgotten this part.

"It accepts women, right?"

"We have three currently, yes, but. . ." He took a ragged breath, trying to understand what was happening. "Do you. . .want to go there because Megamind is there?"

Her mouth twisted in what was almost an amused smirk, but the rest of her expression was torment. "A little. I prefer being around him. But it's _you_ — you're the reason I'd rather be there. I trust you, John," she said now with difficulty, using his first name as well, "and that's. . .really rare for me. I'm sure you realized a lot about me I've never admitted to anyone, and god knows I've admitted things to you I've said to no one else."

"You want my protection, being at my prison," he deduced.

"Yes. Will you do that?" she asked, tentative, as if she daren't hope.

He considered her request for a moment, thinking things through. His entire world had been flipped upside-down within the last month. Megamind behaving erratically, even for him. Miss Ritchi showing weakness and pain where there had only been female pride and strength before. Metro Man possibly dying. Hidden relationships and codes going on between the three aliens and the human woman trapped amid them. The city didn't feel like the place he'd always known anymore.

It felt like he'd been looking through the surface of the ocean for years and years, watching the fish come and go, believing that because he saw them, he understood them. And then he dove beneath the surface and found an entire ecosystem he could have never imagined.

At length, he said, "Okay. I'll make arrangements, get the charges drawn up and the suggested prison of choice. At the arraignment, all you have to do is say 'guilty' when asked. I'll do my damnedest to get you in my prison, Roxanne. Just. . .bear in mind that you requested this."

For the first time, he saw her give a true, relieved, grateful smile, and knew he'd done right by her.

* * *

Note: Isn't it funny how often we forget things? . . .No? Just me then?

A while back I got an anonymous review that indirectly suggested a song to go along with this fic: "Rolling In On A Burning Tire" by The Dead Weather. I youtube'd it and discovered it's _freaking awesome!_ If you don't know it, it's intense and always makes me think of a showdown. In light of this, if you're the type of person who enjoys background noise while reading, I suggest that song. If you're after a playlist, I've also come up with these:

"Angels" by Within Temptation

"Hunter" by Dido

"Haunted" and/or "Going Under" by Evanescence

If anyone finds another great song to add to the list, tell me! I love using music as inspiration when I write.

Next Chapter: Metro Man, struggling to recover from his injuries, goes berserk when he learns Roxanne's been charged with aiding Megamind in his crimes.


	6. Sanctuary

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_6. Sanctuary_

* * *

She'd known this wouldn't end well. Since the idea came to her, she'd known. But she'd wanted the freedom of being beyond _his_ grasp so much that she'd done it anyway. When the officers came later that day to formally arrest her at work, listing the charges before her coworkers, she'd let it happen, giving no comments and offering no resistance. She opted not to request a lawyer, choosing instead to confess to her involvement. Hours later, at her arraignment, she pled guilty.

John Warden had been part of the accusing party alongside the D.A, and when additional comments were requested by the judge, he'd spoken up.

"She has been very cooperative about everything," he'd said. "I want her moved to my prison to serve her time."

The judge had allowed it, and sentenced her after a long, scrutinizing look. Purposely, she showed the judge the truth on her face: that she did not regret her actions. He sentenced her to a grand total of eight years, two months on the spot. She thought that was a bit much for _conspiracy_ and _accomplice_, but didn't mind. If she knew Megamind, he'd be breaking out of the prison within two weeks, and there was nothing saying that he would leave her behind.

It was while she was being escorted out of the building to an awaiting car that Metro Man finally reappeared, hitting the ground so hard it threw up large chunks of concrete. She was oddly calm for the moment, and remained as the only one still standing when he landed.

His first words: "What have you done?" Well, she noted, he wasn't coughing up blood or breathing raggedly. Either the acid was burning out or he was recovering, she figured.

Once the dust around her settled, she answered, "I pled 'guilty'."

He stalked closer, and though a part of her wished to curl up and make herself less threatening, she straightened her back. Her inner resolve couldn't prevent her heart from racing, though.

"I heard," he ground out. "You plotted to kill me. With _him_."

"I know," she answered, deciding then that if he chose to kill her in the heat of the moment, it was just as well. She refused to keep living in fear of him. "It was a mistake," she went on — _that you didn't die._ "I'm sorry, Wayne. I did something stupid." _By agreeing to be yours. _She loved her lies, it seemed; when she spoke to him, they kept pouring out. It was second nature by now.

He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if evaluating how well he truly knew her. She'd done the same thing, thinking of him — often. At length, he regained control of himself enough that he didn't explode completely. "How could you do this to me?" he demanded. "To _me!_ I've been nothing but generous and kind with you and then you — you did this —" Frustrated, he thrust his arms wide, as though asking for the right words to come to him.

_Eloquent._ She swallowed. "I know exactly what I did," she told him. "I committed a crime; now I have to pay the price."

"You betrayed me!" he threw at her. Her escorts flinched — she didn't. "And to _him?_ Of all the people to betray me to — of all the reasons to turn on me. . !" His nostrils flared as he breathed hard, trying to regain composure. "Why him? What did you tell him about me? I want to know every word!"

"No!" she snapped. "What happened with him is in the past now." _Sadly, it's only in the past._ "I want to forget about it. All of it."

"Tell me what you said to him!" he ordered her.

A week ago, she would have. But after what happened last night, his anger couldn't touch her. She'd found it: the most fear she could ever feel for him. Now she was numbed to the "average" stuff even more. He was furious with her, but he couldn't touch her, not now — not without ruining his reputation and destroying his public image. He cared about that image more than he cared about her, she was sure of it. Because without it, what was he? Just a guy with a cape who flew around.

She replied, "Everything I said to him was in code. Remember the day I went to the prison? I interviewed him then for my job. Remember what happened later? You convinced me how wrong I was. And I thought, it didn't matter, what I said to him — he could never kill you." More and more, she felt the truth of those words sinking into her. And no longer could she trust that Megamind could do the impossible.

But he had accomplished something she would never have predicted: now that she'd analyzed it well, his determination to do it anyway sparked her own. If _he_ refused to give up, then she wouldn't back down either. It felt like another life — the time when she saw herself as proud and confident and untouchable. It would take time to reacquaint herself with that woman again. But she would do it.

She saw Wayne dissect every word she said, weighing them, taking them in. And then, as if he was some kind of magnanimous angel, he said, "I don't know if we can come back from this."

_Thank god if we don't. _"I know. I've thought about that. If you end it. . .I won't blame you." Her actress skills on level ten, she said that last bit with as much sorrow as she could manage — about the same amount of sorrow that she'd feel if he decided they deserved another go. _Please, let him decide I'm not worth the trouble. Let him decide that he wants a woman with no hand bloodied by crime or darkened by sin. Let him believe I'm not the one for him. _

_Let it end._

John Warden came to her rescue then, stepping beside her. "Please, Metro Man," he started, gaining the hero's attention. "I understand how difficult this is between you two, but we have a schedule to keep. You can visit her any time at the prison, to talk."

More and more, it felt as if John knew _everything_ — and that he was acting as both shield and security blanket for her. She likened him to her deceased father, Benjamin, who had been a security guard for the last twenty years of his life.

Metro Man's eyes slid to look at John, then back to her. It was already happening again. His jealousy came to the fore. He _hated_ to see other men anywhere near her. At times he even despised her closest female friends. _Friends she'd let go._ They couldn't understand her problem; the one time she'd mentioned it, they'd looked at her like she was crazy. Just like the kids at school, blindly following him because he was so handsome and powerful, they believed he could do no wrong.

She had no doubt that the entire public would turn on her for this. But if he forgave her, they would. This she knew without a doubt.

After the eternity she spent thinking of this, tension so high around her it would snap at the lightest prod, he took off again. There was enough of a shockwave to lift a few stones and stir the dirt, but he caused no additional damage to the court's steps.

From there, she was taken directly to the prison. Her photos were taken ahead of time, she was stripped and given the typical orange uniform — which, she noted, had only a very _slight_ appreciation of the female form — and then her engagement ring was taken. Once it was off her finger, she was cuffed, and yet she felt an overwhelming sense of freedom. John watched her go as two guards escorted her down the halls and to her cell.

She wasn't surprised to hear hollering echo after her, hoots and cheers. _Metro Man's girlfriend was in prison._ It must feel like some kind of victory to them.

Awaiting in her cell was a heavy-set, older African woman with a stout afro, sitting on one of the two beds. She cocked a brow at Roxanne as she came in, the cell door clanging behind her with a sound of finality. The other woman rose, gave her a once-over, then turned her lips in a crooked smirk.

"Hey there," she greeted. "Yer my new cellmate huh? Ain't you that Ritchi gal from the news?"

Roxanne nodded. "That'd be me." Deciding she would rather be friends than enemies, she offered her hand. "Roxanne Ritchi from KMCP, channel eight."

The woman grasped her hand in a tight, strong grip, giving it a firm shake. "Layla Delli's the name. Most folks call me Lady. Ya got a nickname?" she wondered, returning to her seat.

Roxanne took the opposite bed. "A few. None I particularly like."

"Mm-hmm," Layla agreed. "I bet it ain't fun to be called _'his girlfriend'_ everywhere."

"Hit the nail on the head."

Layla laughed. "So whatcha in for?"

"Conspiracy and aiding and abetting a known criminal in his endeavor to murder another." She didn't add _human being_ because neither man was technically a human. "You?"

"Beat my boyfriend to death with a baseball bat. His best friend right after." She didn't look or sound sorry for that. Instead, she seemed just a bit proud.

And the story soundly just a tad familiar. . . "Bat. . ." Roxanne echoed. "That happened. . .three years ago, right? Brutal Beating of Two Men, I think was the story."

Layla nodded. "That's the one. I got a cutout of the newspaper article." She nodded at the wall, and when Roxanne looked, she saw the article in question taped to the wall.

"What happened?"

"Ah, Jared — that's my ex — was tryin' to get more money by tryin' to force me into prostitution. I wasn't about to stand for _that_. I hit him, he hit me, I got the bat and went happy with it. His buddy came in while I was goin' at it, so I turned on him. Now they're both paste and I get to keep my knees together whenever I like."

Roxanne couldn't help a smirk. _Way to take a stand._ It felt extreme to her, but then, why was Layla's situation extreme and not hers? She was after the same kind of ending to _her_ story. "Two life sentences?" she checked.

"Voluntary manslaughter, they said. Forty years ain't so bad." Layla shrugged.

After a moment, as she thought things over, Roxanne glanced out of the bars. Across the way, the cell had a single occupant: an older man, in his fifties perhaps. He was looking back at her, brows drawn, as if trying to figure out why she was here. The whole setup of this prison didn't feel safe for the prisoners within, she realized. The men were close — and if given the chance, she knew _exactly_ what they do with the four women trapped here with them.

"I thought the women would be separated from the men," she admitted.

Layla looked across the floor, spotted the man, and made a rude gesture that he returned. "It ain't so bad. Ol' Warden watches out for us gals. This cell block is D, where the mildest of the prisoners are. Keeps the threat to the ladies low. We sleep at the same time, but everything else is rotated: mealtime, exercise in the courtyard, showers. Provided we don't start nothin', we're as safe as we can get."

_Looks like I made a damn good decision then. _"Good to know."

"Hey! Hey new girl!" a voice called. "Do we get an interview too, huh?"

"Oy, quit yer annoying blabberin!" Layla snapped. With a knowing look at Roxanne, she explained, "Cell to our right is home to Nikki and Lisa. Lisa used to be my cellmate, before Warden switched us up." Louder, she called, "Y'all'r gonna get your _interviews_ at recess! Now shaddup!"

It was starting to sound like John Warden had purposely rotated the cells in an effort to pair her with the safest woman here. If he had, well, then he was fulfilling his promise to protect her. She felt indebted to the man, and more so since she hadn't been able to give him much information. He was trusting her on very little, she knew.

The rest of the evening was. . .interesting, in its own way. She talked to Layla, neither woman asking too much, until dinnertime for the women. She noted they were pulled out of their cells before the men, and after eating, they did chores in the kitchen with the two cooks. One of the two she recognized as a guard, though she didn't know his name. All the while, the new girls were chatting her up.

Nikki was a pretty, dreadlocked, blonde Caucasian with striking blue eyes, the brightest Roxanne had ever seen. She was short, but very spunky, and admittedly a little nuts. Every so often she urged an invisible person to _hush,_ because she was talking. She was in for involuntary manslaughter; she'd tried to shoot her mother, but missed and shot her mother's nurse instead. The woman died, and now Nikki was here.

Lisa, Roxanne was certain, was not the other woman's name, but some form of nickname. She was Hispanic and looked it, with long black hair and shaved eyebrows that she somehow penciled in every morning. For years, apparently, she'd been stuck on drugs of every sort, and had committed a number of crimes with her boyfriend-slash-dealer. She'd gotten clean since, but had still wracked up more than eighty years total. Her boyfriend and her were both taken in at the same time, and he'd committed suicide right after.

When they got back to their cells, Layla warned her that the mattresses were uncomfortable to any who wasn't made of stone, but Roxanne couldn't mind that. She'd been having a hard time sleeping for almost five years, thanks to a little knowledge that she was being watched at all times. The two ladies got onto their respective beds, and when the lights turned out, she stared at the ceiling for a long time. As she started to fall asleep, she began to smile.

Routine was easy in the prison. The four women showered before the men, and went on to breakfast while the men washed up. Chores tended to change based on what the prisoner's disposition was like and what they were willing to do. Roxanne wasn't much of a cook, so she was spared that duty, instead getting chores of washing the dishes and folding laundry. Lunch was the same as breakfast: the women before the men. It seemed almost cruel to her; some of these men were desperate for female companionship, and they were right behind the counter when the men were served their meals. But it did make more sense this way, in terms of helping the cook. Cooking for four women was a lot easier than cooking for several hundred men.

After lunch came recess. Men before the women in this case, which often left a good deal of a mess in the courtyard. The women chatted as they played two-on-two basketball (which Roxanne was horrible at) and Layla took to playing games with Roxanne that were easier to master. The entertainment was a tad bit lacking, but she accepted it as a reasonable trade-off.

Dinner and sleep came next, and throughout the day, gossip filtered in. The guards didn't gossip as much as the prisoners, but there were certain ones whom often dropped a line or two as they walked by. Some of the guards, she noted, was downright irresponsible for the prison's rules. She caught them playing guessing games and cards with the prisoners. But, she supposed, it was better than dying of boredom for them all.

She knew the day when Megamind found out she was here because the gossip fired off that he'd gone berserk. According to the rumors, John Warden had informed him of this fact during his daily rounds. He'd reacted by shouting, hitting the glass window to his cell, and threatened John to release a specific prisoner or receive pain of death. Most of those who'd heard the rumor assumed he was talking about himself; Roxanne knew better.

And then she was sent to solitary.

She blamed herself for snapping, but also blamed the guard for not keeping his mouth shut. She and Layla had been in the cell, just talking as they were wont to do, when he seemed to notice her and do a double-take. This particular guard — Ramirez — had not been in this cell block before, and had no knowledge that she was here. He chose to express this by coming to the bars and demanding for her to identify herself.

She'd cast him an odd look and answered, "Roxanne Ritchi."

"Metro Man's fiancé?" he'd checked.

"Currently on hold. What do you want?" she'd asked.

"To get to the bottom of a. . .rumor. A rumor that says _you_ gave Megamind information that almost killed Metro Man!"

"Look, guard. . ." she'd eyed his nametag, "Ramirez. You're talking about something you know nothing about. I suggest you shut up and leave before jumping to any conclusions."

He'd seemed to take that as a 'yes'. "You did, didn't you?" he'd bit out. "You filthy whore! You turned your back on our hero! Why would you even — that's how you repay all the love he's given you?"

At that point, she could take no more. Now, she'd never been particularly agile and she'd also never taken any kind of self-defense course (who needed it when your boyfriend was a superhero and his nemesis never put you in danger?) but neither of these factors applied when she rose, approached the bars, and kicked between them, hitting the man right on target.

He'd yelped, stumbled, and grabbed the bars for support. Her attack hadn't ended there, however. She'd reached between the bars and grasped his shirt, tugging it so his head hit the bars. When he stuck his free hand through the bars, she'd snatched his wrist, twisted his arm, and pinned it to the bars in what had to be a heavily uncomfortable pose.

And then she'd hissed at him, "You're talking about something you know _nothing_ about, and since you didn't shut up and leave like I suggested, now you've lost your ability to function all your parts correctly. Need I add that this is a sensitive subject for me?" He'd shaken his head vigorously. "Good. Then you can go about your way." She'd shoved him away. Layla applauded.

Knowing there would be repercussions didn't stop her from feeling pleased with the situation. Apparently harming a man's most prized possession was a useful outlet for her. She made sure to remember this in the future, should she feel the need to release pent-up frustration.

A day in solitary was her punishment. With no lights, no window, and no sound, it would have been terrifying — had she any fear of such things. Instead, she'd felt compelled to relax. Hours later, lunch had been shoved in through a slot at the base of the door, and she had found to her amazement that she'd begun meditating. The silence did wonders to help ease her emotions and calm her mind. The loss of sight only proved to eliminate a distraction for her, allowing her to think more deeply than she had in years.

So she'd ignored the lunch tray, closed her eyes, and kept focused. As time passed, she dug into herself, and while one might call them hallucinations, she knew better. Her mind had never been more in order or active as it was then, images so clear flowing through her that she treasured each one. To her surprise, she discovered that she was still very much the woman she'd been in high school at her core — at least in her own mind. She began to realize that all the years of acting had a side-effect she wouldn't have believed if she weren't examining the proof herself.

She'd spent so much time hiding from Wayne, from the pain he offered if she disagreed, that she'd started to _act_ afraid. So much time had passed since then that she'd forgotten, but now she recalled thinking to herself that maybe if she showed she was scared of him, he would hold back. And with each act, she'd started to believe she was who she pretended to be. Eventually, she'd begun believing that her strong self was the act, and her timid self was the truth, because of the simple fact that she spent more of her time acting than not.

It would take time, she knew, to recover who she was. More so if Wayne still wanted her.

And sometime later, something new happened. All threads of visualizations ended, leaving only the sound of her breathing — and soon, touch.

She knew there was no one else in here with her. The door was locked shut tight, and the room itself made hiding sounds impossible. She could hear her own breaths reverberating off the walls and nothing more. But somehow she was also aware of a touch, soft like a young rose petal. It caressed her cheek, curved along her jaw, and she began thinking it was some sort of angel. She'd never been religious enough to believe in them, but thought that perhaps this was a mental manifestation. She needed a guardian angel, so her mind had conjured one.

For a long time, she sat still, analyzing the touches. It had to be her mind, she decided. There was no wind and no one else with her, and these touches went through the cloth at her shoulders and arms like it wasn't there. At the same time, it felt familiar, to an extent. And it didn't take her very long to realize why: the things touching her were perfect representations of fingers. More so, her mind recognized the skin it was mimicking.

Megamind's.

In a twisted, backwards sense of the word, he was her guardian. Years he'd spent as her villain (though granted he didn't do a very convincing job of it) and upon the first hint that she was in trouble, he'd turned around. Twice he'd risked everything to save her, and somehow she knew he'd continue to try until he either succeeded or perished.

It wasn't only the imagined feel of his fingers that convinced her it was him; it was also the way they touched her. Hesitant, careful, so tender she could hardly believe the hands belonged to an admittedly bad alien with bi-weekly plots for citywide domination. Why he liked her and seemed to treasure her, she didn't know, but she was starting to feel more and more blessed for it. Which, itself, should be reverse in concept: blessed to be loved by the villain, cursed to be loved by the hero. What had her life become?

Time passed, and she only grew more content, bathing in a feeling that might not be accurate, but was pleasing nonetheless. The hands never left her for long, and switched between explorative touches to her shoulder or arm and more personal touches down her neck or along her collar. And, at times, she could also swear she felt breath on her cheek or shoulder, as if he really _was_ here with her. But it was only a feeling; she never heard any sound beyond her own breathing.

So it became a tiny inner sanctuary for her. When she was in solitary confinement, she had her guilty pleasure in imagining a particular pair of hands roving her, offering comfort and never violating any rules about personal space. It was strange, but she admitted that it was _exactly_ how he would act, were the situation to occur.

The following day, she threw a handful of mashed potatoes at a prisoner who'd irritated her, just because she knew she'd get solitary for it. John talked to her beforehand, and she explained that she wanted the quiet of solitary again, so she'd acted out — to keep him from having to come up with a legitimate excuse for the trip. He'd shaken his head as if she'd lost her mind; maybe she had.

Maybe insanity wasn't as terrible as everyone made it out to be.

* * *

Okay, he could admit it. He'd gone a little on the nutty side when the warden informed him that Roxanne had pled guilty and put herself in prison. _On purpose._ But it'd been so hard to see her in this setting, wearing the ridiculous orange uniform, sleeping in a cell and talking to inmates. He had every faith in her ability to survive, of course; the very fact that she'd lived through years of Scott's presence only proclaimed her inner strength. But she wasn't a woman who did wrong, so by turns, she shouldn't be in a prison. End of story.

And then to threaten the warden to release her or he'd disintegrate the man — that part was overkill. He shouldn't have said it. He was still trying to play the relaxed, amused villain. The very fact that he'd blurted out such a line would only prove detrimental in the future. John Warden wasn't an idiot, after all; in no time he'd have Megamind figured out. Then, who knows? Maybe he'd use Roxanne as a crux to get Megamind to start behaving.

He grudgingly admitted that it'd work. _If_ applied.

And this whole thing raised the question of what Metro Man was up to. If Roxanne pled guilty to being an accessory to the plot that was meant to kill the braindead human-headed man. . . Well, Scott wouldn't be happy. But as he'd heard nothing of her being assaulted or worse, either Scott _didn't_ know, or he was holding back. Megamind wished he had more answers.

It helped a little that he was in contact with Minion. The clever fish was using their backup communications method of sending notes through the static in the television set. It had to be seen and heard to decipher, and Megamind seriously doubted any human could ever understand it. But to him it was clear. On the outside, Metro Man seemed to be having trouble staying focused, and sometimes he didn't seem to be in the game. Regardless, he was still at it. Still playing the hero.

Another breakout was planned in one week's time. If what the warden said was true, then Roxanne had already been here for five days. And if Minion was as on top of things as ever, he was aware that she was here, that Megamind would want her out, and taken it into account. It'd been a long time since he'd been angry enough to threaten the fish with being served on a platter along with chips, but if Minion broke him out without getting Roxanne safe first, there would be hell to pay.

Not many rumors reached Megamind's cell, so he spent the majority of his time thinking and watching the news. It used to be he'd keep an eye on channel eight — not just for Roxanne, but for news on Metro Man. Besides which, Miss Ritchi had a knack for choosing the best stories to report, and never told a lie (that she was aware of), so it was the best station to get cold, hard facts. Now some blonde twittering just-out-of-internship under-brained jailbait had taken over Roxanne's spot. She was a paradox. Clearly she didn't have a brain in her skull, and somehow she managed to be _twice_ as stupid because of it.

Megamind hoped they fired the broad. Soon. He sneered at the screen whenever she came on, and — for the first time in six years — started watching another station for the news.

Three days from the appointed breakout date, while he was deep in thought about how he was next going to save Roxanne, an explosion seemed to rock the building. It sent a red flag rising immediately — because it couldn't be Minion. The plan was for Minion to impersonate guard Houston, knock out every guard along the way to Megamind's cell, and release him, then go get Roxanne. They hadn't used such a crude means of escape in more than five years!

He rose and stared at the shade barring his window, panic beginning to filter in. Not for him, but for _her_. Where was the explosion? How strong was it? He analyzed everything he could, but he didn't have enough information to determine specifics. From his place in cell block A, he concluded it was either a weak explosion from cell block B — or a very strong one from cell block D. Shouting and alarms pierced through the thick metal door.

_What was going on?_

Suddenly the shade whipped back, revealed the haggard appearance of Houston. He looked shaken and angry at the same time.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

Megamind shook his head. "That wasn't me, Houston."

"Bullshit!"

"Houston, I suggest you call up the warden and tell him to call in SWAT."

"Is that part of your plan?" Houston snapped.

"Just do it!" Megamind yelled back, losing patience. He looked pointedly at the camera in the corner as Houston vanished, hoping Minion had hacked into the camera feed and was seeing this. They couldn't manage a quiet escape now — he needed his de-gun, brainbots, and _more information._ There was no time left to go about this carefully.

Minutes passed. Slow, agonizing minutes. He began to pace, glancing at the camera every few seconds, as if he expected to see Minion glance back through the lens. His concern for Roxanne continued to increase for every second that the alarms remained on. And, predictably, he began hearing footfalls outside his door. Someone yelled, gave orders, left; the pattern repeated. He was too agitated to make out words.

Then the shade parted again, and the warden was there. "Is this your doing?" he ground out.

"No," Megamind answered, coming up to the door. "Did you call SWAT?"

"SWAT?" John echoed.

"SWAT! I told Houston to tell you to call SWAT!" he snapped, flattening his hands on the door. "This wasn't me — she could be in danger!"

"Everyone still in D is still in their cells," John told him. " 'She' is fine."

"Can you guarantee that, warden?"

"I just did!"

"Let me see her for myself!"

"You will ne—"

A second explosion threw them off, interrupting the speech. What was _happening?_ Megamind shot back to his feet, peering out of the window. John reappeared a moment later, though he was no longer looking at Megamind. He was gesturing down the hall, shouting what sounded like _get them back_ and _find out what happened_.

"That had to come from C!" Megamind said. "Stronger than the first – what's going on?" He knew the layout of the prison, knew that the four blocks made up a diamond. D, B and C were on top, with the largest cell block, A, the point on the bottom. Megamind's cell was in the southeast part of A. Roxanne would be in D, and if the original explosion had come from B, then this one came from C. The very fact that there _were_ two explosions suggested that whomever was setting them off was looking for something.

_Someone._

A vision of a white-clad figure came to mind, and he tried to squash it down. Sure, blowing through two cell blocks looking for someone would be something Metro Man did, but it seemed so violent for even someone of his massive strength. And if Megamind's brain was giving him a correct assessment, then Scott was coming for Roxanne. What he would do with her remains to be discovered.

Shouts continued, and then Megamind heard the defining piece of evidence: _"Things are burning and broken and we can't find the perpetrator!"_

Because he was moving too fast to be seen.

"Warden!" Megamind demanded, hitting the glass for attention. "Let me out! I have to get to Roxanne!"

John twisted, turning a measuring look at Megamind. The moment seemed to last forever, as John was trying to discern the alien's motives, and the alien was wearing his motives on his sleeve. Then, at last, John shook his head.

"I'll keep her safe," John promised.

"That isn't good enough!" Megamind yelled, but John was already moving away. Either Houston overlooked the shade control or chose to ignore it, because it didn't close. Another glance told him Houston was gone.

"Warden!" Megamind kept yelling, even after the man had disappeared. "_John Warden!_" Receiving no answer, his eyes shot about his little cell, beginning to put together a plan. The camera and the television were the only things electronic in here, but maybe it would be enough. He fished out the buttons from where he'd stashed them in the cushion of his chair, hoping against hope that it'd be sufficient.

He used a button to start unscrewing a panel behind the set that kept all of its wires safely tucked away (a precaution added after the fifth time he'd used the television's parts to escape). The very process cramped his fingers and broke two of the buttons, wishing for a zipper instead, but he managed to get it off. He was so panicked that he had no grasp of time, working as quickly as he could. He yanked out a handful of wires, killing the power. Then he began working on getting a particular metal plate free.

It required more work than the initial plate, but he'd had to cut the power first or get fried for the effort. Plate in hand, he hurried to the wall where he knew the controls were on the other side, then began slamming the plate in the edge between the wall and floor. Once he had it caught, he levered with it. In no time, the plaster came free, and he kept digging at it with the plate until he had enough space to fit his hand through.

Feeling blindly for a wire when you didn't know where it was located tended to be a stupid idea, even for him. Any number of terrible things could happen because he was being foolish enough to try this. But he listened as he plucked at wires, building a map in his head as he felt along the interior of the console.

It felt like a gift straight from evil heaven when he pulled at a cord and the door slid open. Not wanting to chance that the timer was still on, he retrieved his arm and darted from the cell while he still could. He had no idea what he would find along the way — hopefully Minion escorting Roxanne from this chaos — but that wouldn't stop him. The first guard to try and stop him got a fire extinguisher to the head. The second got a mop handle to the groin. They wouldn't stop him. Not while he was still breathing.

He headed straight for cell block D. By the time he crossed the threshold between buildings, the power cut out, allowing only the sunlight to pierce the darkness — and all the cells opened via failsafe. No prisoners got in his way; they all feared or respected him enough to know to leave him be. Especially now that his determination had grown larger than his ego ever was.

One step at a time, he maneuvered the anarchy, spotting John Warden once but ignoring the older man. He could never hope to outrun Metro Man — but with luck, he wouldn't need to.

* * *

Note: Why does it feel like every time I start one of these notes, I forget literally _everything_ I had to say?

Sorry this chapter took so long. I could do almost no work on it all weekend and then ran into trouble with the dialogue, having to rewrite most of it. Damn but these three are tough to maneuver in this setting.

I got an anonymous review not long ago that was an in-depth critique of the entire fic. It was thorough, and saddened me somewhat that it wasn't a signed review that I could reply to. That critique was _exactly_ what I needed: an outsider's opinion about what I was doing wrong. I'm actually somewhat flattered that the person knew my other fic, Better Side Of Bad, and included that s/he knew I could write all the characters spot-on, just pointed out that I wasn't doing so well here.

Which I do have to argue with a bit. This is an extreme situation for all characters involved, which makes it a HUGE challenge to write, and forces people to respond differently than their personalities denote. If you want to read the review, go ahead. It'll be easy to find; it's at least twice the length of every other review I've gotten. So, to this critiquer: thank you! I wish you'd been signed in so we could talk more in-depth about this and you could share more insight, but you've already helped a great deal.

Oh yes, one last thing: if you see a mistake, point it out. I'm normally good at catching them over a few rereads, but any help would be golden. ;)

Next chapter: With tension rising, Megamind reaches Roxanne just in time.


	7. The First Step

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Goodf**_

_7. The First Step_

* * *

Once he was in cell block D, he didn't know where to look.

As a boy, Megamind had been in this block, and it continued to be his main home until he became a legal adult and started pulling pranks that weren't so mild anymore. During that time, not a single woman had been incarcerated here (though there was a woman who'd gotten released not a year before he'd arrived) so he didn't know where exactly the women would be. It was the second-largest cell block on top of it, plenty of space to get lost trying to find something.

He tripped a guard who'd been running by, intent on getting answers, but the man had been so frazzled he'd just gotten to his feet and continued running without a backwards glance. Such panic among the seasoned guards left him unsettled, and he decided that yelling for Roxanne was worth the risk of discovery.

Over the noise of prisoners cheering and guards ordering, his voice was lost. His eyes darted everywhere, hoping for a sign of a short-haired brunette with gracious hips. If only he'd thought to grab the warden when he'd spotted him and demand to know her cell number. . !

"Roxanne!"

He heard the yell and headed straight for it, recognizing only that it was a woman's voice. That was a good lead — the women would likely be grouped together. It made sense in this oppressive atmosphere that the minor numbers would band together; already he'd seen several groups of fours and fives, prisoners he knew would otherwise be unable to hold themselves against even a single guard.

He skidded around a corner and darted down the long hall, looking everywhere down the wide corridor of cells. He was greeted with the sight of guards either running or fighting, and prisoners doing the same. Further down, he saw a heavy dark-skinned woman wielding a police baton and swinging it like a bat. He latched onto the sight of the female and ran straight for her.

Once she'd fended off the prisoner in question, the man sprinting away, he saw Roxanne. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, however, he noted that she was kicking a cellmate off another. The man grunted and righted himself, freeing a blonde woman he'd been pinning, and turned his attention to Roxanne. She blocked his punch with her forearms, but was pushed back, hitting the bars of an open cell. With a yell, a black-haired woman leapt on the man's back and started tearing at his neck and hair.

Megamind was getting close now. . .not much further. . .

The man yanked the woman off him by the hair, threw her down, and backhanded Roxanne when she tried to help. She hit the bars again, lost balance, and spun as she fell. The prisoner immediately bore down on her, kicking at her middle.

Megamind had never run faster before in his life.

By the time he was close enough to interfere, Roxanne was blocking the kicks and the black-haired woman was heading for the attacker again. Megamind jumped over the moaning, prone blonde, kicked off the wall next to him, grabbing the man by the back of his uniform and employing both momentum and his weight (pitiful though it was) to twist and throw the man. He made a sound not unlike a blown tire as he hit the ground; Megamind landed on his feet.

At least two gasps sounded as he was recognized, and he sent a few sharp glances around to assess the others near him. The males were all backing off now, which was a good sign. The African woman was staring, baton raised, evaluating him right back. The blonde was wide-eyed (one of them darkly-colored with the beginnings of a bruise), up on her elbows and making no move. The black-haired one was halfway crouched, as if she were getting ready to pounce. And Roxanne. . .

Roxanne was pushing herself up on one arm, lips just starting to curve into a smile. Her jaw was reddening on one side and her rolled-up sleeves displayed some darkening marks on her forearms, but she was okay otherwise. After another moment, she quirked a brow at him. "That was cool," she approved.

Startled, he shot a glance at the man he'd thrown. "It was easy," he explained, looking down at her again. Gesturing with his hands, he went on, "It was just the use of momentum, weight and centrifugal force —"

With a chuckle, she lifted her hand to him then, and he cut himself off to grasp the appendage and pull her up. And then she stepped closer — he sucked in a breath at her proximity — and linked her arms around his middle. "Glad to see you again," she said.

She _looked_ glad to see him again. As he hesitantly lifted his arms and held her in return, he found himself thinking that this was odd behavior. It felt different, somehow, than how she usually was. Which, apparently was the entire fault of her eyes.

She looked like _Roxanne_ again. Those eyes were teasing him with secrets he'd kill to know, displaying the attitude and strength he'd come to respect in her. If her earlier fight with the other prisoner was any indication, then she'd somehow grasped herself again during the week-and-a-half she'd been here.

It was downright _weird_. From her breakdown weeks ago to her relative composure the last time they'd met, he'd come up with a percentage of change for her — the estimated time it'd take for her to become herself again. But she'd just blown the entire formula away. It seemed the crux wasn't _time_ after all; it was Scott. Removing him from the equation had kick-started her recovery.

Either that, or something else had changed as well.

While this assessment was taking place, somewhere behind him he heard a man say, "So _that's_ why she turned on Metro Man. . .she's with Megamind now." A chorus of _oohhhhh_ followed the comment, and he barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Hey, uh, Roxanne, honey?" a voice broke in.

Her smile still pleasant and a little content, Roxanne looked over at the African woman.

"You. . ._do_ realize that's Megamind, right?"

"I am fully aware of who it is, thank you, Layla."

"Then what'cha huggin' him for?" the blonde demanded, finally pulling herself up.

Roxanne shrugged a shoulder. "Wanted to."

He smirked, trying to hide how much he warmed on the inside from that statement. "Good to know. Now, if we're done confusing everybody, we have to get going." He glanced around, searching for an escape route. _Where was Minion?_ The ichthyes should have been here by now! There was no time to consider this now, however; he had a plan to form. He started moving around, evaluating items (electronic and otherwise) that could be potentially useful. And as he went, conversation followed him. Roxanne was talking to the other women; the men were talking amongst themselves, no one wanting to make a move that could warrant his wrath.

"C'mon girls," Roxanne urged. Footsteps echoed after him.

"Wait — what? Why're we followin' _him?_" That sounded like the Layla woman.

"Because if anyone can get us out of this, it's him."

_I don't care about anyone else but you, Roxanne. I'll discard them without a second's hesitation._

"So we're gonna trust him?" another one cut in, with a thick Hispanic accent. The black-haired one? It didn't sound like the blonde.

"That's the plan."

"Do _you_ trust him?" Layla asked.

"Yes."

"With your _life?_"

"Always have."

His heart skipped a beat at hearing that one. The weight behind it would have staggered him at any other time. Lucky for him, he was too busy to allow himself to react. As he surveyed the two cameras in sight, dissecting them with his mind, a tremble went through the floor. He didn't want to jump to conclusions about Metro Man and destruction, but when the place shuddered under another explosion, there was no doubt: Scott had just gone from cell block C to cell block A.

"What is going _on?_" one of the men demanded no one.

"My guess?" Roxanne offered. "Metro Man's pissed."

"What would he be — oh," was the reply. "Yeah, I don't think he's gonna be happy with you."

"That should go without say," she answered, but Megamind was aware of a certain note in her voice — something that said, _I'm lying._ Or if not lying, then allowing a lie to be swallowed. She'd chosen not to reply with what she believed to be the truth.

That made Megamind begin to worry. No one knew Scott better than Roxanne did, so he just knew she'd come up with a better reason for his actions than _looking for his fiancé._

After another almost-fruitless examination of the area, he bit out, "Dammit Minion, where are you? Out swimming?"

"No, sir, just trying to avoid notice."

He spun, as did most everybody, and spotted Minion heading straight for him. He was flanked by dozens of brainbots, one of which flew ahead, a few items of particular use in its gangly arms. He reached up and caught the items when they dropped: his holowatch-slash-communicator and de-gun, complete with holster.

"You fantastic fish!" he and Roxanne said in unison, causing him to glance over at her. First, since when did she say that? Second, was that a jetpack Minion was strapping to her?

"What are you doing?" Megamind blurted, hurrying over.

Minion shot a glance at him but spoke to Roxanne, "You have any idea how to use this?"

Hands at the buttons on the waist strap, she named off, "Throttle, boost, shut off, reverse, left, right; everything else is in how I angle myself." With a knowing look, she added, "You don't fall from as many buildings as I do and never learn to pick up how angling oneself works."

_Incredible woman._ She had no fear, no uncertainty, not even an ounce of doubt. She threw Megamind a smirk. In truth, he was delighted to see this side of her back in action. But he had misgivings about her flying around in something he'd only ever had in the _prototype_ stage. If Minion had managed to clear out all the glitches and make it work flawlessly, then that was good — but she still had no experience working it.

Before he could protest, Minion was putting one on him, too. "You're going to need this, sir."

He leaned around Minion's massive shoulder, offering a glare at how the other women swarmed around Roxanne, cooing and in awe at the invention on her.

Then one of the men spoke up, "What about us?"

"Priorities," Megamind told him. "You, unfortunately, are not on my list of valuables, so I don't think I'll be risking my neck to aid your exodus from this criminal confinement facility."

He received a room full of confused, clueless looks in reply. _Too easy._

To Minion, he added, "Anything?"

"Was going to have the brainbots take them outside the building."

"Might take two or three brainbots for some of these guys," Megamind mentioned.

"Oh, there's more." Minion gave a last tug at the straps, then nodded to himself. "The invisible car is waiting two miles south-southeast from here."

"How are you going to get out?"

Minion showed his arm, displaying the holowatch, and twisted it. Rather than take on the form of a person, he took on the form of a stack of chairs. Then the hologram vanished, and Minion grinned. He pointed up at the ceiling, which a series of brainbots were cutting into with their lasers. "That's your way out. If you have everything in order, sir, I need to go hide in the cafeteria."

"Take a brainbot with you, just in case," Megamind advised. Minion didn't argue, calling one and taking off. Once the fish was gone, Megamind approached Roxanne. "No more pawing at my inventions, please, ladies," he said, and the women backed off. To Roxanne, he said, "Ready for this?"

"You mean am I ready for freedom?" she checked.

He found it ironic to a painful degree that she would be achieving said freedom alongside him — the often-incarcerated, spent-more-time-in-prison-than-out supervillain. "Exactly." Watching the ceiling, he strapped on his holster, feeling a sense of familiarity at having it back with him. The circle of concrete came loose, the brainbots lowering it to the ground away from the living.

That's when all the brainbots handed out watches to every person nearby. Megamind quirked a brow at the sight, then had an inner evil laugh. _Minion, you fantastic fish!_ If this was what Megamind assumed it would be, then as soon as he and Roxanne made it out, the holowatches would activate and the area outside would be filled with false Megaminds and Roxannes. The fish was officially a genius.

"Stop where you are!" someone snapped.

Megamind glared over, knowing who'd he see by the voice alone. Roxanne moved closer to him, so he linked an arm around her, threading his fingers through her hair, while his other hand drew and aimed his de-gun at John Warden. The older man had his police-issue firearm drawn on the alien.

"Don't try to get in my way," Megamind warned.

John looked partially stunned, taking in the sight. Megamind could only imagine what he was thinking, seeing a room full of prisoners, brainbots, and rubble, the fights having ended the moment Megamind had broken up the gender-fight. And now to see Roxanne willingly next to him, his hand on the back of her head, both of them strapped with jetpacks — if the old man had a stroke, Megamind wouldn't have been surprised.

Slowly, John lowered his weapon. He said, "I'm not sure I could stop you anyway." He started closer. "Everything I've _done_ to stop you only succeeds in slowing you down, and only for as long as you let it." Directly to Roxanne, he added, "This is what you choose, Roxanne?"

With no hesitation, she replied, "Thank you for everything, John."

"Get out of here, both of you," he said now, looking away as though it was a very difficult thing to say. He waved his hand to shoo them off.

"Not without you, old man," Megamind told him. He gestured a brainbot closer, ordering them all to start clearing the building — beginning with Warden.

John protested (in shocked tones) the entire trip out. Other prisoners laughed or screamed as they were lifted.

Then Megamind met Roxanne's gaze. "It won't be easy to make it through that hole," he said.

"Then you go first," she retorted.

He backed up, bent his knees, eyed the opening, and hit the throttle. It was more powerful than the prototypes he'd tested, and he'd never tested it on _himself_ before, so the entire thing was a learning experience. He still made it through without hitting anything, letting off once he was above the roof to land on it and gesture her up. Following his lead, she bent her knees, stood beneath it, and hit her throttle. She didn't make a single error as she was pushed into the air and through the hole, and he grabbed her to help steady her as she let off.

She blinked, looking stunned. "Whoa."

"You get used to it," he soothed.

"I thought I _had_. But apparently flying on my own is a completely different story."

"Should I carry you, then?" he teased.

She swatted at him. "Lead on."

With a grin at her returning playful nature (despite the harrowing situation they were in), he took off, glancing back to see her following. She had great control, he noted, especially for one who'd never used a jetpack before. He was an exception to the rule about first attempts because he often learned enough _during_ the first attempt to succeed at the task in question.

Though it was more dangerous closer to the ground, he couldn't risk the two of them getting spotted by Metro Man — wherever he was, whatever his motives were — so he chose the less dangerous route by sticking near the thicker buildings and the streets. And no matter how often he glanced back to survey her progress, she never showed any trouble. If anything, she was getting better, and smirking all the while.

It didn't take long to reach the invisible car (he could see the vague outlines from a good distance) but he still had the lingering feeling that it'd been too soon. Despite the trouble nipping at their heels, he'd been having fun, and it seemed Roxanne had been amused as well. They darted in the car as soon as they landed, unstrapping the packs as they went. Roxanne tossed hers in the back before he could, then reached over to help him. He took off the moment he was free of the apparatus.

After a moment, as he wove through the traffic at speeds no human would dare, she started to laugh, only to cut herself off by clamping her hand down on her mouth. He cocked a brow at her in silent inquiry; she placed a finger to her lips for silence. He understood; the car wasn't sound-proof, after all, and nothing said Scott wouldn't be able to hear her voice regardless if it was. Silence was key until they were far enough away.

But how far was "far enough"? He'd been so caught up in the escape that he hadn't considered it. The only safe place on the planet would probably be the core. The safest place they could go would probably be Mars. Scott was dumb enough to not consider looking there.

And that was the main problem: Scott finding them. Megamind had already come to the conclusion that they didn't need to kill the hero — they needed to kill the _relationship_. If Scott didn't want Roxanne anymore, then she'd be safe from him. Until they could figure out how to do that, however, they needed to keep out of sight — and out of hearing. For her safety, she could be nowhere near the super-powered alien.

First thing's first, though: where could they hide? Megamind had no doubt she had the answer to this, but he couldn't even ask until they were miles away. His car ate up the distance without complaint, filled to bursting with the hydrogen-powered battery he'd invented just for this vehicle. It was the closest he'd come so far to replicating the power of his B.I.N.K.Y. He still didn't have a clue as to what power source _that_ used.

Several minutes later, after the adrenaline had run its course, she leaned back in her seat. She was looking out of the window, her contented smirk still curving her lips. As he glanced at her, he wondered what she was thinking. Probably something to do with the fact that she'd never before been conscious while in the car. And despite not making any noise, she was still the most distracting thing on his mind. He had so many questions for her — and not very many of them had to do with Scott and her eventual freedom from his grip.

At length, he murmured, "You seem better."

She looked over at him, then seemed to consider her options. Eventually she decided that speaking might be too risky — and then she pointed at his hand.

Curious at what she was getting at, he pulled his right hand off the steering wheel. She quirked her fingers in a _closer_ gesture, so he held out his arm. She took the watch off, and he smirked at her ingenious mind. After putting it on her own wrist, she looked at him expectantly. He nodded in understanding; she'd seen Minion change via the watch, but hadn't seen how he'd done it.

Megamind twisted the dial as she held it out. Currently it had two forms: his own, and the warden's. He set it to his own form, then advised, "Carefully."

She rolled her eyes at the obvious statement. It looked weird to him, seeing himself pull that move. "Now," she said, shaking her head at his own voice coming from her, "yes. . .Roxanne seemed better."

He couldn't stifle an amused snort at the ridiculousness of the situation. Now they were talking in code _and_ in third person on her part. It was a good thing she was so sharp, or she'd be lost within a few sentences. And yet he couldn't help but think this would be a good test to study just how clever she was, to see how much she could keep up with. It was a tantalizing thought.

He shoved it down. _Later, maybe._

"I wonder what happened to her back there," he questioned no one.

She grinned, so his visage cloaking her did too. "I guess she could have had an epiphany."

"But then, how would that have happened?"

"Oh, right — there was that rumor she went to solitary. Maybe that factored in."

He did a double-take. He'd heard nothing of her going to solitary; what happened? Apparently she'd assumed he knew the story, so that ruined his chances of getting answers. Phrasing things carefully was harder now. "That rumor never did explain how she got there though. I wonder what she did?"

"Well, it couldn't have been for _her_ protection," she clarified. "She's too tough to need it."

That narrowed down the options quite a bit, and erased a budding fear. "Ah, what was it. . ?" he started, trying to sound frustrated. "How long did the rumor say she was in for?"

Roxanne sat back, waiting out a reasonable pause for someone to peruse their own memories. "Oh, right! A day."

"It still sounds extreme for a first offense," he muttered in annoyance.

Silence stretched between them. She seemed to be waiting on him, so he rummaged through questions that could become a conversation to oneself, just in case he was being listened in on. He settled with, "Now where do I go? He must have found the lair by now, so that's not safe."

As if prodding him for deeper thought, she hinted, "Where haven't I tried to hide before? Where haven't I set up a lair? There must be _somewhere_ he wouldn't go. . ."

He considered it. "I've never left the country — but he has. Where can I go that he hasn't already been?"

She was now willing him to understand with _take the concept further_ gestures with her hands. "Alright, break it down," she suggested. "Habits. Everyone has habits. So does he."

It was maddening that she seemed to know the answer but couldn't outright tell him. At least she was helping him think it through. "Besides the posing and witty lines," he started with sarcasm, "he doesn't have much, does he?"

She threw her hands up. "Oh, there's that," she said, almost biting out the words. "We've never fought in the rain before. I wonder why? Could he. . ?"

. . .Could he _what?_ Dislike rain? Hate getting his hair wet? He bit his lip as he thought it over, trying to understand what she was hinting at. And then it dawned on him and he stared wide-eyed out of the windshield.

_No way._ "Hydrophobia?" he wondered aloud, dumbstruck. The man who feared nothing feared _water?_

She mouthed _yes_. "Of course! It all makes sense now! Well, not the hydrophobia part — why would he ever fear water? That's not the point. Focus, Megamind. He never does hero work on rainy days, hates getting splashed — I remember that time I shot at him with a missile, missed, broke open a —"

"Fire hydrant," he took over, gaining excitement, "and it blasted him with water, drenching him head to toe. And he just froze there like I'd hit him with a paralytic beam of some sort. And then he'd just hurried through the battle, dropped me off at the prison and left without any further banter!"

She clapped him on the shoulder with a grin that almost perfectly matched his own trademarked evil grin. He knew it for certain because of the "face" she was currently portraying. It weirded him out just a little.

Hitting the car's boost, he started east. He was worried about Minion, of course, but the communicators were powerful enough to cover several hundred miles — more if there was a satellite above that they could strengthen the signal with. The Atlantic ocean was closer than the Pacific, so he headed there, deciding he could clue in Minion once he was out of the state. Knowing Scott, the hero would be searching out Roxanne for a long while before trying to get back on Megamind's trail.

He was hoping against hope for it.

Around four hours later, with dusk approaching, she deemed them safe enough to turn off the holowatch. She didn't give it back, however, and he decided it was better for her to have it anyway. She was the one who most needed to hide, after all.

She sighed. "I have a question for you."

"Just the one?" he teased.

"Currently," she agreed without batting an eye. "It's been almost five hours, right? Why is it you didn't have to stop for gas?"

"Gasoline?" he checked. "This car doesn't use it."

"Solar-powered?" she half-joked.

"Hydrogen-powered. I invented the battery."

"How long does it last?"

"Don't know. The tests never drained it enough to determine a conclusive usage rate." For a long moment, she stared at him with both shock and some measure of respect. He responded with, "What?"

"Okay, first? I never did understand how solar power works. I barely grasp how windmills do it. So it's totally out of my realm to understand how hydrogen would do it. But why didn't you, I don't know, try to patent and sell it? If it's so much more powerful than double-A batteries, it could help so much —"

"It's volatile," he explained, getting a quiet _oh_ from her. "With enough of an impact, it'll blow."

"Kind of like nitro?"

"Nitroglycerine? Yes, but it takes _more_ of an impact."

"How much are we talking?"

"Over two-hundred-thousand pounds."

"I know enough to know that's a _hell_ of a lot."

"Exactly. While it's close to impossible to get that kind of an impact even in a car accident, if it _does_ go off — well, an ounce would leave a crater three-hundred meters wide and half as deep."

"_Christ._"

He arched a brow at her. "Never heard that expletive come from you before."

"Extreme times," she hinted. "I believe I recall hearing you call out a _fuck_ yourself not too long ago."

He inclined his head in agreement. Yes, there was that. Changing the subject back to his ingenious invention, he went on, "The battery in this car is three pounds. Enough to potentially last decades without having to recharge it. And enough —"

"To level a city the size of Metro," she finished.

"You catch on quick."

"I have to — to keep up with how fast your head works," she quipped.

"I'm not sure if you meant that as a compliment."

"Are you getting so many that you can pick and choose?"

"Point well made, Roxanne."

She leaned back, crossed her legs, then licked her finger and marked an invisible tally in the air. He saw the move as _game on._

After another moment, he wondered aloud, "Are you getting hungry?"

"Why? You have a solution if I am?"

Oddly testy all of a sudden. He glanced at her. "Maybe."

"What would the solution entail?" she asked carefully.

"Reaching out of the invisible window and swiping someone's food. Maybe out of a cart." The idea disgusted him; he hated those rolling food carts. They were unsanitary, he was certain of it.

"In other words: stealing."

"You seem to be constantly forgetting that I am _evil,_" he stressed.

"I don't believe that. Not for a second."

"And why is that?" he asked, offended.

"First: Evil can't love." Her tone was knowing and just a tad bit smug.

And her words stunned him enough that he started to chew on his lip. Oh yes. She knew what he felt for her. And she was now beginning to wave it in his face — well, maybe not anything so dramatic. It was more like she was letting him know that _she_ knew. And he didn't know how he felt about it. On the one hand, _how long_ now had he known that she knew? Several weeks. It was nothing new. But on the other, this was the first time she'd acknowledged it, even indirectly. It made him nervous.

Trying to change the subject, he said, "Second?"

"Second: I've never seen evil dance so well."

He laughed. "Is there a third?" he prodded once he'd recovered.

"Third," she started, scooting closer, "evil wouldn't have bothered getting all those prisoners out of harm's way. Evil would have grabbed whatever he cared about and took off without a backwards glance."

She linked her fingers with his after prying his hand from the steering wheel, and all the while he was getting even more nervous, unable to even glance at her for fear of what he'd see. _She can't love you; you're the source of her torment,_ he reminded himself. In all likelihood she was just doing the same thing to him that she'd been doing to Scott for years: placating. Giving him tastes of what he wanted so he wouldn't be angry with her. The thought caused a spear of pain to shoot through him, a lump beginning to crowd his throat.

Her words were true as well, he realized. He'd made sure to get the prisoners out first, starting with the warden. Sure, they were part of the decoy, and most were probably really irritated with him for it, but the fact remains that it'd felt _right_ somehow, to get them out of harm's way.

After a few moments, he squeezed her hand — which she returned — and then regrettably pulled his appendage free, replacing it on the wheel with a sigh. He didn't feel that he could accept any kind of affection from her — not yet — and a part of him couldn't believe she'd give it. Besides, he still owed her, not the other way around. If she was giving him such comfort because she thought she was indebted, then he had to set the record straight.

"You don't owe me anything, Roxanne," he told her.

She looked at him, though he didn't look back. "I think I do," she disagreed.

"You don't," he argued. "If anything, I owe _you_."

"Now why would you say that?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because I. . .realized something," he started. "You got Scott's attention to protect me from him, didn't you?" Silence. He could almost feel her stun without looking to confirm it. "You did. And then for him to get so possessive of you, not letting you go, forcing you to stay with him and hurting you so much — it all comes back to _me._ I'm the one at fault."

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself for this," she warned, her strength returning. "I made my decisions then, and yes, I had no idea it'd get so. . .crazy. That doesn't change the fact that I chose my path. Maybe my motives had something to do with you, but I chose to walk that path anyway. Any suffering I went through I brought upon myself for not ending it when I had the chance."

He could already see this argument wasn't going to end without some serious effort from them both. So he shook his head. "Look, Roxanne, we're never going to stop arguing about this. Can we put it on hold? Maybe you're not hungry, but maybe I was only asking to be polite." It was true, at least. He was starting to feel like a black hole had taken up residence in his torso.

A pause. "Is that why you let go of my hand?" she asked. "Because you feel you owe me?"

"I _do_ owe you — and I thought we weren't talking about this anymore."

"I never agreed to that. Listen, maybe. . . Maybe you do owe me. Maybe I owe you — and don't interrupt," she rushed in before he could argue. He closed his mouth. "But maybe this. . .with us. . .is right. Maybe you're exactly the kind of medicine and therapy I need. And maybe. . .I took your hand because I crave the feel of your skin."

He swallowed as he took in her words. She was serious? He couldn't stop himself from reaching over, and once more she slid her fingers between his. He held on as he kept driving, forgetting about hunger and exhaustion and the repercussions of sitting in a vehicle for hours on end.

_Maybe this. . .with us. . .is right._

That hesitant sentence stuck to him. What was she saying, exactly? That she liked him? She admitted to needing him, so maybe — a part of him didn't hope to believe it — maybe she loved him back. She didn't say the words, one by one, but neither had _he._ Was this to be how it went for them? Risking their necks for each other, protecting one another, all the while never saying how they really felt? Actions speak louder than words, he supposed. The very fact they were willing to go through so much for each other. . .

Wasn't that unspoken love?

He didn't want to think about it too deeply now. After all, he was driving at well over a hundred down an interstate. That was just a prophecy for disaster if he let himself relax. Still. . .he _was_ hungry, after all. Once he set the whole love issue aside, he was well aware of how empty his stomach felt. He didn't often eat much, by human standards, but he needed a lot of high-energy foods to keep his metabolism up to par. And caffeine as well; its effect of opening up blood vessels could _really_ help him think.

Deciding, he said, "Whether you want stolen food or not, we need to eat. I'm taking the next exit."

She groaned. "Why didn't Minion just give me my wallet?"

"Because you use MasterCard for all your purchases," he informed her.

"I _do_ have bills in there, you know. And how would you know how I purchase things?"

"I pay attention," he quoted her own words from the last time he'd kidnapped her.

"Hah. Good one."

"I try."

"But really, I don't like this idea."

The exit approached and he swerved onto the off ramp. "You don't have much of a choice. In case you haven't noticed, we're running for our lives."

"I still hate it."

"Why are you so against the idea anyway?" he wondered. "Is it Scott's influence?"

She laughed. "Right, because I follow his lead to the _letter_," she replied.

"Harsh rebuttal, Roxanne." He started prowling along the small town's streets, looking for prey.

"So it is. No, I got my sense of right and wrong from my dad." The one who'd died, he recalled. "He was a security guard since a couple years after I was born. Always doing the right thing, returning lost items, helping those in need, putting the law before revenge. . ."

"Justice, not revenge," he murmured, remembering her words.

"Yes. Wayne didn't influence me — I influenced _him._ I . .don't want to sound all arrogant, but I made him a hero."

And then he grew so attached to her that he'd been unable to let go. It didn't seem right. "It's not arrogance if it's the truth," Megamind allowed. He stopped in an out-of-the-way area in a parking lot. "Okay, now, don't hate me for this —"

"That's ominous," she noted.

"You're so _witty,_" he tossed back. "I figure this might work out best if I went into that gas station and just robbed the place."

She stared at him hard. "Are you serious?"

"Do _you_ have a plan? Any at all?" he offered. "Besides, statistically, gas stations get robbed more than any other type of business and —"

"Statistics!" she echoed.

He glared at her. "My point is, such a robbery would be overlooked, even if a blue man did it. If you give me the watch, I can use the warden's visage —"

"No!" she snapped, pulling her hand back. "Wait, John's on here?"

"How do you think I walked right out of prison on the day the Metro Man Museum opened?"

"Right. But no! That would just make him a petty criminal and it'd ruin his career!"

"He's two months from retirement," he sighed.

"Really?" she wondered, lowering her arm. He could almost hear her thoughts: _well, if he's going to retire anyway. . ._

He snatched the watch off as he replied, "No, not really."

She made a sound like an indignant yell. "You. . !" she started.

"Cheater? Liar?" he prodded with a smirk. "Get used to it." He turned the dial, assuming the warden's form.

"Wait!" she snapped, grabbing his arm before he could get out.

"Make it quick; my stomach is devouring itself," he urged.

"Can't you just pick someone else?" she pled.

He _could_, yes. "You mean so I end up ruining someone else's life instead of Warden's? That would make you feel better?"

She tilted her head left and right as she struggled with an answer. "Actually. . .yes, it would."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. I'll find someone else." He started to leave, grabbed the handle —

"Wait!" she said.

He slapped his palms over his face. "This is taking a long time," he observed.

"I have a plan."

"Without giving anyone a false rap sheet?" he checked as he removed his hands.

"Yep. Does that suit come with pockets?"

"Are you asking if the hologram has pockets?"

Her face fell. "Suddenly the plan feels stupid."

"Don't be hard on yourself," he chuckled. "It's a legitimate question. And yes, it does."

"How does that even _work?_"

"Do you want an answer or do you want to eat?"

"Answering would only take a second, right?"

"Not at this rate."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"Only a little. I get what you want me to do: dehydrate various kinds of food and drink and stuff them in my pockets. I'll be right back; don't go anywhere."

As he stepped out, he heard her mutter, "Yeah, because I have so many options. . ."

* * *

Note: Whew! It's frickin hard to write when your eyes feel like sandpaper! But I was determined to finish this chapter before I went to sleep. So, here we are.

I'd like to thank everyone for suggesting so many songs for this fic. I have a playlist up on youtube, but, uh. . .fanfic-dot-net doesn't allow links. The playlist is called — wait for it. . . — Bad To Be Good, so if you youtube-search for it, you should find it. Enjoy! **And then I discovered that I can't find it via searching.** So I put the link up on my profile, beside the title of this fic.

I had way too much fun writing this chapter. From the flying to the banter and somehow the idea of John Warden being carted around by brainbots is heavily amusing to me. . . XD Well, just fun all around. Which is ironic given they're still _running for their lives._ I feel like a terrible person. *noidon't*

I hope you enjoyed all my explanations for Megamind's gadgets and such. I have more. And I do friggin' research for this stuff. Oh yeah, and that hydrogen battery? I totally got that from the original script of Megamind. If you haven't found it and read it yet, DO IT. I order thee. Using my. . .err. . .authority as a fanfiction authoress. IT'S POWERFUL SH*T YOU KNOW.

Next chapter: Minion rejoins the duo and they take to the sea.


	8. Bonding

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_8. Bonding_

* * *

The previous six hours were really something to behold, Roxanne realized. It felt like timing was on her side, and by turns, as if the world itself was on her side. She'd just been let out of solitary again (a two-hour punishment for slapping the cook when he made a comment about her failing loyalties during the men's lunch), feeling content after all the relaxing images and sensations her mind had supplied her with, when the alarms started going off. They'd felt trembles in the entire cell block, some places shaking so much debris fell free.

The chaos that had ensued was expected of such a situation, but it still left her appalled — and itching for a microphone and cameraman to provide coverage of the event. In a daze, she'd begun automatically giving a report, though there was no one but Layla to talk to. The other woman hadn't judged her, just offering feedback at intervals. It wasn't until then that she realized how much she missed her job, though it'd only been days.

She doubted she would ever get it back now, so she decided to suck it up and take it like a woman. The very fact that she'd managed to stay on as a reporter until she was twenty-eight was shockingly impressive all by itself. Most female reporters got shafted at twenty-five.

Another strong explosive wave shook the place not long after, and Roxanne had begun coming to conclusions about what was going on. Her first thought, reflexive, had been that the explosion was Megamind's fault, and that he was going to come for her soon. The fact that there'd been a second, _further_ away, made her suspicious and not a little worried.

As if feeding a paranoid part of herself, she'd kept coming back to the idea that it was Wayne. It didn't make much sense for him — it made _no_ sense at all for a hero to do this. She'd started to pace, anxious for answers. The shouting in the building grew deafening. And then a buzzer sounded, all the power cut out, and the cells doors all clanged open. Her heart had almost stopped.

This was _bad_. She looked out of the cell for a long, stunned moment, before Layla had grabbed her and the two darted into the other women's cell. All four crowded together, taking strength in their numbers. Two guards immediately took up a post at the entrance, batons held out. They had put up a valiant fight, but couldn't hold off the severely greater numbers of the male prisoners.

At first, everything had seemed alright. The prisoners were clearly more interested in their revenge against the guards than they were interested in the women. Freedom was a more tantalizing thought than sex, so most of the men had headed away in groups, likely looking for a way out. But one man in particular seemed to have a serious problem with Lisa, demanding retribution. When he'd tried to come into the cell, Layla had reacted, charging into him with her greater weight and knocking him back.

Two more men had come to his aid, and then the real fight had begun. There was a lot of frantic swings and indignant yells, and Layla started to get the upper hand by using a baton one of the guards had dropped. She had just managed to beat back the two extra men when Roxanne had gotten knocked down, kicked at, and had looked up in time to see Megamind push off the cell door and throw the man.

More and more, this alien was proving to be her guardian angel.

It had been completely on impulse that she'd reached out to him and embraced him. But she missed him more than she'd ever expected to — perhaps because of her odd hallucinations involving his hands? Whatever the reason, emotion had swamped her: relief, pride, elation, pleasure. . . Until then, she hadn't known just how much she was attached to him. It had gone far beyond the simple reasoning that he could help her, that he could free her. Somehow, through everything they'd endured, she had begun to need him in her life.

But right then hadn't been the time to analyze it, and a part of her had been grateful when he focused on the task at hand. Ah, and then to see Minion again, too! It had felt like an odd, somewhat twisted reunion. Possibly including the fourth member of their party.

John showing up had been unexpected. So had her response: when she saw that John was aiming at Megamind, she'd stepped closer to the alien, shamelessly showing where her loyalty lay between the two. The most shocking part of the entire exchange hadn't been anything either man had said, but rather when she felt Megamind's hand in her hair. The hold he'd had was so protective and gentle it'd almost baffled her — because she _knew_ the implications behind the move.

In all likelihood, Megamind valued nothing more than intelligence, specifically his own. She knew him well enough to know that this value included heads in general; he was always annoyed when she had even a scratch anywhere on her face or head, and he despised violence that was aimed at the skull. And that meant the placement of his hand held so much weight, it was practically a declaration of love.

The jetpack — how interesting _that_ part had been. She understood the buttons with no instructions (she knew exactly how Megamind places his buttons and switches) but to actually _fly_ with it had been a singular experience. At first she'd expected it to be much the same as when Wayne carried her in flight.

She'd been _wrong_.

It was like a test flight just to get up to the roof. Following Megamind's example had helped at the initial take-off, and though she'd had a mild panic attack at the thought that she could crash and _die_, she hadn't let herself lose any semblance of control. She kept focused from then on, hands at the ready on the buttons. It had made it that much easier to follow his lead, especially because she didn't have enough of a sense of direction to know which way south-southeast was. A part of her had been surprised that Minion hadn't given coordinates to the car.

She'd spotted the invisible vehicle (an oxymoron if there ever was one) not long after she noticed Megamind correct his course, heading straight for it. Neither had spoken as they'd darted into the vehicle, gotten rid of the jetpacks, and taken off. When he started chatting, a long time later, she'd had the brilliant idea to employ his holowatch. Other than knowing the name and what it did, she didn't know anything else about it really, so she'd needed help to get it to work.

Twist the dial. She should have figured that one out herself. And then she was — Megamind? On the inside, she'd never been so amused before in her life. On the outside, she'd struggled for control, then started speaking as if she were him, talking to himself. It'd been strange to refer to herself in a third person point of view and to pretend to not have her memories, but damn if it hadn't had an element of fun too.

In a strange way, it had been a relief when they started bantering again. Hours had passed, so she figured they were safe, relaxing a tad. She'd missed their back-and-forth intellectual duals, too, it seemed. It was at that point when she had to start wondering if there was anything about him she hadn't missed.

His disregard for the law had been a negative point, she admitted. But he was right; neither of them had money, and was it really such a crime to steal food to survive? Desperate times, she reminded herself. He left with a plan she'd helped concoct, returning with several cubes and a bottle of water.

"Stole the water too?" she checked.

"You know," he started as he turned off the hologram, "you should probably stop with those questions. Ignorance is bliss, as they say."

"I refuse to accept you believe that," she quipped.

"You got me. I don't. Now," he said as he dripped water onto each of the cubes in turn, "which gourmet meal does the lady want?"

Jerky, chips, various packaged baked goods, Gatorade, bottled tea, bottled water — and two packages of chocolate donut holes and four bottles of cappuccino for him. He started in on the donut holes immediately; meanwhile, she was staring at the bottles of water he'd rehydrated.

She started to laugh. And once it began, she couldn't stop it, throwing her head back as she laughed. She knew she had his attention, knew he was probably looking at her as if she'd gone mad, but she couldn't hold back the peals of laughter long enough to ease his worry.

". . .Roxanne?" he ventured. His tone made her laugh harder. "Are you. . .okay?"

She shook her head, waving her hand at him. She gasped for breath, fighting down the amusement. Clearly it'd been far too long since she'd had a good laugh. At length, she controlled the last giggles, explaining, "It just struck me as funny."

"What?" He glanced at the food, obvious confusion written across his face.

"You _dehydrated_. . .and then _rehydrated_. . .water. Bottles of water." A few more giggles escaped.

". . .So?" he prodded.

"It boggles my mind!" she tried, gesturing as if it'd help. "You dehydrated water bottles," she picked one up, waving it at him, "and rehydrated them, and they're still full and. . . I just can't understand it!"

"Oh, well," he shrugged, "that's because it's not _exactly_ dehydration. It's more of a splitting and rearrangement of molecules and compression to change the basic compounds with H-2-0 as the catalyst." With a knowing look, he explained, "Water was the simplest compound to get to work, given it's in almost literally everything on the planet."

"Still boggled," she returned. "But I won't question it." She twisted the cap off the bottle and drank it, both surprised and not to find it tasted like average filtered water. Once she started in on the jerky, he slowed down his devouring of the donuts — and began talking into his watch.

She watched with interest and a raised brow. The watches also had a communications adaptation?

Apparently so. He said, "Code: Minion, is it safe to talk?"

"You know," Minion's voice came through the device immediately, "the whole point of a code is —"

"I know very well what codes are for," he interrupted. "Are you alright?"

"Got out of the prison just fine, sir. Things are. . .chaotic."

"Was it Scott?"

"Afraid so. He leveled all four cell blocks, then set in to destroying the brainbots one by one. I had them scatter but I don't know how many made it. . ."

She was partly surprised at how sad Minion sounded and how much despair she read on Megamind. Were they so attached to the robots? She supposed they were a cross between a pet and a child for the two, so maybe. . .

Megamind sighed. "Okay. Thank you for the report, Minion."

"Where will I be meeting up with you two, sir?"

Roxanne was flattered that the fish included her, and that he'd assumed with perfect confidence that she'd made it this far. When Megamind opened his mouth to reply, she cut in, "Hey Minion!"

"Miss Ritchi!" Minion called. "It's good to hear from you!"

"Likewise. I'm glad you're okay."

"Like a fish in the ocean, miss."

She couldn't help grinning at his self-joke. _Fantastic fish._ Megamind gave her a look that said _is it my turn now?_ She rolled her eyes.

"We're heading to the east coast," Megamind informed his fish friend. "If we don't meet up before I reach the border to Ohio, I'll wait for you."

"Why the east coast, if I may ask?"

Megamind tossed her a smirk. "Strategy, my friend. We'll be sticking close to rivers, lakes, cliffs. . ."

". . .Water, sir?" Minion wondered, confusion in his tone.

"Precisely. Do you need any help traveling here?"

"Nope. Just need a little while to make sure the coast is clear."

"See you soon, Minion."

"Code: wouldn't miss it."

Megamind went back to driving then, with an open bottle of Starbucks cappuccino in one hand. He looked so deep in thought (which isn't generally a good sign whilst driving, but he pulled it off effortlessly) that she didn't want to disturb whatever he was thinking about. So she sat back, snacked on the available foods, and watched the scenery go by.

Megamind wasn't the only one who'd lived his entire life in Metro. She'd never been so far away from it before. Not for lack of a desire, of course; she was an inquisitive type and wanted to see how the rest of the world looked. It'd just never been much of an option before. With her stuck between two aliens, one of whom had been getting more controlling with time, she'd had no options for travel. She supposed Wayne would have obliged and taken her to see the other countries, but she ached by just _thinking_ about all the bruises she'd undoubtedly get from such a trip. Especially if he was eager to show her something.

After perhaps an hour of continued silence, she said, "Hey. How is Minion going to get here?"

"Spyider-bot, probably," he answered.

She arched a brow, then leaned over to see the speedometer. "And this spider-bot, it can go faster than one-twenty?"

He glanced at the speed and shrugged. "No. But it can move in a straight line. We have to follow the roads."

"I bet you could take this thing off-roading if you raised the suspension and gave it big, tough tires."

She noted his eyes widened, and then he was smirking. "Roxanne?"

"Hmm?"

"You're a genius."

She chuckled. "I don't think I'm technically ranked up that high. I'm just very sharp."

"Well, I'm bleeding profusely, so you must be."

"More dangerous than your spiked collar?" she teased.

"By at least six times."

She shook her head at the absurd statement. She was six times more dangerous than his spiked collar? "You know, we've never talked this much before."

"I do know," he agreed, and he sounded a little sad about that.

She glanced at him sideways. "I suppose we're fixing that now, though."

Slowly, he began to smile. "I guess we are."

After a moment's thought, she added, "Now would be the _perfect_ time for an awkward silence."

He chuckled. "Here. I'll start," he offered. Silence followed.

Several seconds ticked by before she started to snicker. He was fighting his own amusement, she noted, biting his lips and shaking with silent laughs. But her laughs set off his own, and in unison, they broke through the silence with hoots of laughter.

She hadn't had this much fun in over a decade, since before she met Wayne or Blue. How ironic that it was the "bad boy" that could give her so much fun as they ran after escaping prison, both of them still in the hideous orange uniforms, and just recently having eaten stolen food. She wasn't sure her father would approve of all the corners she was cutting, but she'd be damned if she let that bring her down. She was free, for however long it could last, and she'd enjoy it while she could.

Aloud, she said, "I haven't laughed like this in years."

That seemed to deaden his mood somewhat. "I haven't had many real laughs, myself."

Unsure what to say to make it better, she offered, "So all those maniacal laughs weren't heartfelt?"

"Afraid not — and thanks for calling them 'maniacal'; that makes me feel so much better," he added sarcastically.

"I aim to please," she shrugged, then thought a bit harder about it. She was making him laugh, and he was making her laugh too. It was starting to sound like it wasn't just him saving her; she was saving him somehow, too. They were healing each other, banishing the painful memories of their pasts.

When he didn't answer, she reached out to take his hand again. This time he gripped her hand with no hesitation. She considered it a victory.

A comfortable silence spread between them, and eventually, she was lulled to sleep. Her dreams were not unlike her solitary confinement meditations: she could feel soft, tender fingers brushing across her cheek and nose and neck, offering comfort and solace. She clung to those images, drifting deeper into her own mind. She was expecting to see nothing for as long as those fingers remained, as the routine thus far suggested. And so she was surprised when she noticed a flash of green in the midst of the darkness.

Her immediate reaction was to jerk away from the sudden proximity of what she knew had to be Megamind; she woke with a jolt and a gasp.

Beside her, her driver asked with concern, "What?"

She shook her head, calming. "Startled myself."

"A dream?"

"Uh huh." She noted how the sky had grown dark. "How long was I out for?"

"Hour and a half," he answered.

"Wow. Felt like minutes." She rubbed her neck. "Mm, not comfortable to sleep in a car."

"It's going to have to do," he replied with an apologetic tone.

She nodded. "Status report?" she asked.

He gave a chuckle. "Almost at the border now."

"Been chatting with Minion?"

"A bit. He's closing in."

"What road are we on?"

"Highway 23. South," he added in case she couldn't deduce that for herself. "Highway 223 merges with us in another seventeen miles."

After another few moments, she said, "So about that pocket thing. . ."

He chuckled. "I was waiting for this."

"Do I need to ask the question?"

"That's good enough." He took a breath. "The holowatch isn't _just_ a hologram. It can rearrange molecules to an extent — temporarily," he added when she looked appalled. The idea that she'd _become_ Megamind earlier was freaking her out. "It can change certain colors, height and width, but mostly it changes clothing — non-living things," he hinted.

"So it changed your _beautiful_ jumpsuit into John's suit, pockets included," she deduced. "And it actually made me bald."

He bit back a laugh. "Not technically. I _do_ have hair, it's just. . .very thin. And small."

She eyed him a little more carefully. "Okay, the eyebrows, the eyelashes, the goatee. . . I can see that. But I've never seen anything like what humans have anywhere on you."

"I think you missed the part where I said they were thin and small," he countered. He offered his arm to her.

She took his hand, pleased to have an excuse to touch it, then looked closely at it. She had to angle the appendage a certain way, but she'd be damned if she didn't see tiny silvery hairs. She cocked a brow at the discovery. "Your body hairs are _white?_" she choked out in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. "No, they're black. That's just how fine they are. They reflect more light than the ones on my face," he explained. "It actually works like camouflage in a way. With you included, only three people have ever known I _have_ body hair."

She compared her own hand to his, assessing the differences between them. She concluded that his were half the length of hers or less, so thin she could barely see them, but just about as sparse. "Well," she sighed, releasing his hand, "I can tell you this: women would _kill_ to have your DNA."

"You included?" he wondered.

"Unfortunately. I'm actually jealous." She pouted. "I kind of want to examine your legs later, but I'm afraid I'll just get pissed off."

"Why's that?" he asked with genuine confusion.

"Because women have this thing about having smooth skin, especially in the legs. I bet if I had your gift of body hair I'd never have to wax."

"What? Wax?"

She raised her eyes to the heavens. "God," she mockingly prayed, "please grant me the patience to explain all this."

Megamind frowned. "Now you're mocking me."

_A little bit, maybe, because I get vindictive satisfaction in it._ "I wax my legs," she explained. "Most women either shave or wax, to get rid of the hair."

He looked confounded. "Why would you want to wax the hair off your legs?"

"For smooth skin. The hair is unsightly and it's just a grooming habit accepted and endorsed by the entire planet, so don't question it."

"I don't understand humans."

"That's fine. We don't understand each other either."

He snorted. "With all your racial, religious and cultural differences, I can believe it."

". . .Hey," she prodded, thinking that they should get a few more things cleared up. Despite the fact that he wasn't looking away from the road, she had the distinct feeling that she had his complete focus. "Is now a good time to chat about who owes who?"

He sighed. "There's not much use for it. We're never going to agree."

"It's just, you're doing so much to help me," she tried.

"And you've suffered for a _decade_ because of me," he argued.

"No — all that was Wayne," she shot back. "Yours weren't the. . .the hands." No truth could possibly be stronger. She now had positive proof that the two didn't even feel alike in the texture of their skin. They couldn't even be further opposites at this point. Other than being aliens, they had _nothing_ in common.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his eyes narrowing. "It might as well have been."

"Now you're just being pessimistic," she observed. "Megamind, I don't blame you for anything."

"_Anything?_" he echoed, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Anything," she repeated. "Well, no. I suppose I blame you for ruining my Prom dress."

He snorted. "That dress wasn't nearly flattering enough for you anyway. It deserved to go."

"Is this the part where you admit you had a crush on me?"

He jolted, the question catching him off guard. He started to sputter. "Th-that's —! Ridiculous! I don't know where you. . .and. . . Why would you even _ask_ that?"

She smiled. "You said the dress wasn't flattering enough _for me_. That would imply you've been looking at me long and hard enough to notice. Besides. . .it _was_ a little obvious."

"Obvious?" He sounded affronted. "Please. I'm not so easily deciphered."

"I disagree. But then I know you pretty well by now. Or your habits, anyway," she added.

"You're also a nosy reporter."

"It's in my nature to snoop, I admit it."

"And you're _very_ good at what you do."

She chuckled. "My point is that it wasn't exactly a secret, how you felt about me."

He started thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Nervous. After a moment, she decided this wasn't probably the best time to discuss it. She trusted in his driving ability, but that didn't mean she was willing to chance going through the window if they crashed.

"For what it's worth," she started quietly, "whatever I said. . .or whatever I implied. . . I never hated you."

He glanced over her, surprise coloring his features. "Really?"

"Really."

"Because there were several times you lost your temper and —"

"Exactly: I lost my temper," she agreed. "Getting _mad_ at you isn't the same thing. And you had to expect that I wouldn't be happy with you all the time, with your. . .choice in careers," she stressed.

"It wasn't a choice. It was destiny," he argued.

She arched a brow. "I don't believe in destiny. Legacy, maybe, but not destiny or fate."

"And why not? Why is it so bad to take pleasure in your path as cosmic forces guide you down it?"

"Because if something _were_ controlling me, that means all my actions are pointless. Something else decreed where I would be born and when, who I met, what I thought about, what my values were — something else decreed that we would have this very conversation. The idea that my life isn't mine to live is a scary thought." She paused. "Something else decreed that I would be stuck as Wayne's plaything for a decade with no way out."

The tension in the vehicle escalated. "Roxanne. . ." he started.

"See why I don't believe in it?" she challenged.

He nodded. "You make a great argument."

"Look, let's just drop it. I didn't mean to start talking about this." Silence was his reply, so she guessed he agreed. Once more, she got lost in thought, until they pulled off down a dirt road flanked with bushes, parked, and waited. Must be the border, she thought.

"Now we wait for Minion?" she checked.

"He'll find us soon," he promised.

". . .Not that I doubt him, but how, exactly? We're down a no man's land road and —"

"Visible," he interrupted.

"Oh."

"It saves the battery and alternator some work, keeps the core temperature lower, et cetera." He glanced out each window in turn.

"And makes this the coolest car on the road," she added. "Let's inflate your ego while we can."

He was already grinning. Then a thought seemed to strike him. "While we're waiting," he started, meeting her gaze, "I want to know what happened to you in the prison."

"You mean the solitary thing?" she checked.

"Everything! You made a one-eighty. The last time I saw you, you looked tortured. And now you're. . .yourself again," he tried, having difficulty finding the words. He gestured at her. "I'm very intrigued."

She leaned back. "I guess it was the whole separation thing. From Wayne."

"I _knew_ it!" he hissed under his breath.

_Thanks for the commentary._ "Plus, something. . .happened. In solitary." She drew her brows as she remembered it, trying to understand (not for the first time) what exactly had occurred. She was sticking with the theory that her mind had been giving her comfort in the dark solitude of the room, but she had a feeling there was something more to it. She found herself staring at her lap as she thought it through.

"What?" he prodded, sounding caught between concern and interest.

She shook her head. "I don't know, I got. . .calm. I relaxed. I enjoyed the quiet and the darkness and. . ." Her words stuck in her throat. Could she really admit to him that her mind had made him touch her?

Maybe she _was_ insane. To imagine such a thing — his hands caressing her — she had to be. Right? Sane people didn't have such weird thoughts, didn't feel such strong sensations. Then again, insane people didn't wonder if they were insane. Her mental debate kept going back and forth, until her apparent silence coaxed a response from her companion.

"Roxanne?" he ventured. "Were you going to finish that thought?"

She couldn't hold back a laugh. No, she wasn't, she answered. And now, as her mind lingered over the remembered serenity she felt during solitary, she found she couldn't resist asking him to do the same thing her mind had him do on several occasions: touch her.

She turned to face him, bringing a leg up on the seat. "Can I request something of you?"

His eyebrows lifted but he nodded. "What do you want?"

He was probably thinking she meant something monetary, some kind of item, she realized. Embarrassed by what she _really_ wanted, she began carefully, "This is going to sound weird."

"I am the authority on weird," he assured her. He started ticking off his fingers, "I've built robotic sheep, blimps, brainbots, the Equestrinator —"

"Unicorn," she corrected with a smirk.

"Equestrinator!" he insisted. "My point is, there's nothing you can ask me that I'm going to find weird. As I recall I can even dehydrate _water_."

She inclined her head. "Yes, but this isn't something you can build." Rather than look deterred, he looked intrigued. Taking a deep breath, she forged onwards, grabbing both his hands. It wasn't easy, but she managed to meet his gaze and say, "I want you to touch me."

Now he looked stunned, eyes wide. After a long pause, he blinked furiously. "Touch you?" he echoed. "W-why would — why would you want. . ." He trailed off, beginning to squeeze her fingers. Then they both started to blush — though his was much more obvious.

A little impatient to get what she wanted, she started to rub her thumbs over his skin. "Remember when I said I crave the feel of your skin?" she prodded.

He swallowed. "But. . .why would you. . ." he tried again.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I just," she looked away, "I need you." Those words that had never before been true. . . They were now. In another moment, he released her hands, and she closed her eyes when his fingers began trailing over her cheek.

His voice was shaky as he said, "I don't know where you want me. . .to touch you, exactly."

"I don't either," she replied. "Just use your better judgment." She leaned her face into his hand when it curved along her cheek.

"Right now my better judgment is telling me this is a trap."

She smirked. "Then _don't_ use your better judgment." For a long time after, there were no words, just breathing and his soft-skinned fingers. Now that he was really caressing her, she realized how off her illusions had been. She knew it already: no memory or imagining could hold a candle to the real thing. Those hesitant, tender hands brushed her hair behind her ear, trailed down her nose, traced the curve of her uniform's collar. She sensed him lean closer after a few moments, could hear his breathing much more clearly now. Then, at last, his finger brushed across her lips.

She hadn't realized how much she'd been waiting for that particular touch until he'd delivered it. She smiled; his breathing went ragged. And suddenly she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to feel his lips again. Or, more accurately, for the first time; the memory of the time she'd jumped in his lap felt like a lifetime ago, and in the moment she'd been too swamped with emotion to focus on anything physical.

So she opened her eyes and met his gaze. He was alternating between watching his hands and looking in her eyes, and she deduced he was too embarrassed to hold her gaze for long. She didn't have much experience with trying to seduce anyone, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that he wouldn't have much more experience with resisting.

She reached up to catch his hands, turning her head to kiss his palm.

He sucked in a breath. "Roxanne," he said, and his voice seemed to struggle with which emotion to portray.

Escalation. That's what was happening. At her prodding, no less. She smiled a little as she absorbed the feel of his skin on her lips, beginning to trail them along his palm and fingers.

Trying for a light tone, he half-joked, "Aren't I supposed to be the one comforting _you?_"

"This is comforting," she assured him. For a long moment, she stared straight into his eyes (so startlingly beautiful, really), willing him to understand what she wanted. And then she leaned in.

He matched the move inch for inch, and she closed her eyes just a second before their lips met. _This_ was what she craved. His emotions seemed to pour out of him, and she had no greater control over her own. She tried to get closer without crossing the center console, letting go of his hands so she could wrap one arm around his shoulders, her opposite hand going up his neck. He made a sound of approval that she echoed, his arms sliding around her.

As the kiss continued on, drowning her in a multitude of positive emotions too numerous to count, she became aware that he was holding back, at least a little. He was hesitant despite showing her greater tenderness and appreciation than she'd ever known. Her spirits lifted higher with every second the moment was unbroken; her mind grew more confused with every time she felt him linger further away. His hands, too, were hesitant, touching lightly and then with a little more pressure, as if he didn't believe he deserved to touch her at all.

Without words, she tried to communicate to him that she _wanted_ this: she stroked his cheek with her thumb, made an agreeable noise, reaffirmed the pressure of her lips. And then he pulled back just a little, sucking in a shuddering breath. Eyes still closed, she kept her hold on him, resting her forehead against his much more considerable one.

He murmured, "Was that too soon?"

She started to smile. _Maybe the ending was._ "Do you hear me complaining?" she returned coyly.

"Temptress," he chided. Then he broke the atmosphere, pulling back into his seat and releasing her. He looked somewhat frazzled as he said, "Minion should be here soon." His face was in various shades of blue, purple and pink now.

That was his excuse? She settled back into her seat, deciding that if he needed time to think things through, she could give it. They might be on a schedule, but she supposed they had time enough to allow a few moments in thought. "You're probably right," she agreed aloud.

He nodded. "Of course I am. Right. Always right."

He sounded so adorably nervous that she started to grin. And, predictably, he _was_ right. After just a minute of an awkward silence, she heard an odd, rapid _thunk-thunk-thunk_ sound on her side of the vehicle. She looked out the window and, at first, could only see a series of red orbs of various sizes moving in the distance. She narrowed her eyes, hating the increased difficulty in seeing that happened after dark, wishing vainly that she had her glasses.

What she eventually saw really fit the name _spider-bot_. Silver gleamed in the moonlight, shined red from the orbs, as it neared. It had a wide, jagged-toothed mouth — or something like it. It looked so _Megamind_-like that she smirked at it, half in stun.

"Minion?" Megamind wondered, leaning over to see out her window.

"Either that or someone hijacked your _spyider-bot_," she teased.

The vehicle stopped next to her, and she noted Minion atop it, strapped in. He was off it in another second, and she was shocked to see the spider-bot move on its own, nudging Minion for attention. He patted the machine.

"It has A.I?" she wondered aloud.

"Not as much as the brainbots," Megamind agreed as he opened his door, "but yes. Minion!" he greeted once he was standing. The aliens went around to the front of the vehicle for their reunion, and she got out to stretch her legs while they did so.

After popping several joints that'd gone stiff, she noted the spider-bot circling her. She eyed it warily. "Hey," she started. "So you're the spider-bot huh?"

It made a mechanical, electronic noise that sounded vaguely agreeable. It scurried around her and nudged her in much the same manner it'd done to Minion, so she patted it in the same way. The next sound it made was a lot like a coo or a whine.

She had to admit it: when Megamind created A.I, he managed to create the most adorable types. The brainbots were all cute in their own ways, and the spider-bot was proving to be more like an eager puppy than a device of evil despite all the spikes on it. Its multitude of eyes watched her as she stepped back and gave it a once-over. She wondered what the gun-thing on its "shoulder" was for.

Megamind and Minion finished talking, ushered her into the back seat of the car, then gave an order to the spider-bot (which immediately took off without looking back) and got into the front. Minion drove, Megamind sat in the passenger seat, and the two began talking again. She listened as they conveyed the last few hours' events, and when they got to the attack on the prison, she interrupted.

"He didn't do it to get to me," she said. They paused, and Megamind looked at her. "He did it to remove an obstacle."

"Obstacle?" Megamind echoed.

"An obstacle to what?" Minion asked.

"An obstacle between him. . .and me," she explained. "He's done it before, just never in this manner. Like when he saw distance as an obstacle, he moved my stuff into his sanctuary so I'd move in with him. When he saw crying as an obstacle, he told me not to anymore. Now he saw the prison as an obstacle, so he removed it."

Megamind turned a worried look to Minion, then said, "So if he starts seeing the planet as an obstacle. . ?"

"I'm not sure he'd go that far," she offered, "but I wouldn't chance it. There's a huge potential for destruction here. If he thinks I'm hiding in the city, it becomes an obstacle. . ."

"He wouldn't destroy his own city," Minion tried, but none of them believed the fragile words.

"That's not something I'd bet on, Minion," she replied.

Megamind shook his head. "So what if he sees your running from him as an obstacle?"

It was a painful thought — her legs ached at the idea. She answered, "Then he'd break my legs to stop me from running."

With an angry huff, Megamind turned back around in his seat. "Is there any way to make him not want you?"

"I'm starting to think not," she sighed. "I was hoping that if I went to prison for helping you attempt to kill him, he'd reject me. But he hasn't. Instead he destroyed the prison in question and next on his list would probably be the law itself." _He can do no wrong — and apparently neither can I._

"So much for _justice_," Minion intoned. "What changed him so much?"

"I wish I had that answer." In truth, she might have it, but she couldn't say for certain. "Although. . . You guys never really saw the real him, so to me, he's just the same as ever. Maybe a little more angry now though."

"A little?" Megamind repeated.

"Okay, so he's gone into a rage unlike anything I've ever seen before. Does that make you feel better?"

He grumbled something that sounded like _nosy reporters and their lack of tact._

Minion changed the subject. "So we're running low on ideas here. Killing him is proving impossible, and it's just as impossible to get him to stop wanting you. What other options are there?"

"Killing _me_," she suggested.

"_No!_" both aliens snapped, Megamind twisting in his seat to glare at her over the top of it.

She arched a brow. "Look, I don't _want_ to die. It's an option, nothing more."

"No — it's not even an option," he shot back. "Don't _ever_ say that again!"

"Alright, fine. What's _your_ idea then?"

Now he looked thoughtful. "We hide in the ocean."

She lifted her eyebrows to grace him with an incredulous look. ". . .Forever?" she checked.

"Well, I doubt any of us is immortal," he shrugged, "but in theory. . .yes."

"Okay, _someone_ has to explain the water thing to me," Minion demanded.

"Wayne is hydrophobic," Roxanne told him. "Not in a really severe way, but enough that he hates being covered in it. Things like drinking water or washing his hands he doesn't have a problem with, but. . ."

Minion finished, "Being drenched terrifies him?"

"Exactly."

"How would _that_ even be his fear?" Megamind wondered aloud.

"I don't know," she answered. "I always figured he had some kind of traumatic experience when he was young. Like drowning."

"I can't see him being scared of anything," he argued. "Or drowning."

"He still needs to _breathe_ you know," she hinted. "Think of it. He's so rarely hurt, and so invulnerable that not even your death ray managed to do more than singe him a little. Now, imagine yourself in his place. You can fly, you're immensely strong, you're indestructible. And then you inhale water and panic. You can't fight it off, you can't hurt it, you can't even get away from it. You can only feel weak and hack and cough until it's out of your lungs."

She could tell he was envisioning it by the look on his face. After a moment, he blinked. "It makes sense," he allowed. "If he _did_ come close to drowning as a baby, that's the kind of thing that would stick with him for the rest of his life."

Minion added, "And he's stupid enough to start drowning instead of flying away."

Snickers echoed in the vehicle.

"That's cruel, Minion," Roxanne chided.

"You laughed," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "So. If we're going to be hiding in the ocean, how are we going to manage that?"

"By stealing a submarine," Megamind answered.

"Back to stealing!" she blurted. "Why can't you just _build_ one? With all your beloved spikes and lightning bolts?"

"Because, my dear damsel, we don't have the time or resources to build one. We need to get to the coast, hijack a sub, and go below sea level without attracting attention."

"You realize this would make the Navy come down on us?"

"Only if they can find us," he hinted.

She considered it. "Alright. If we can hide from Wayne, outmaneuvering the Navy won't be so hard. So how are we going to steal a submarine?"

"With intelligence and a _really_ good plan," Megamind answered with a smirk.

* * *

Note: The "Equestrinator", for those who don't know, was a giant horse robot Megamind made in one of his earlier plots. It's featured in the Megamind comic; you can read it online. And my god if it isn't the funniest thing ever.

The spider-bot has a brief appearance in the movie (the scene where Megamind and Minion are "cleaning up" the city by dehydrating everything; the spider-bot was the vehicle they were riding in) and a big role in the animated short _Button of Doom._

I know the previous chapter said they'd be in the sea by now, but this chapter grew so long and detailed that I had no more room for it. XD Next chapter for sure, I swear it!

On a more serious note, I've been thinking a lot about how to explain the differences in the characters here. A lot of people like to point out how different Roxie and Wayne are, but in the AU canon, the two of them have changed very slowly over a decade. The only person who changed all at once is Megamind: when he realized how much trouble Roxanne was in, he instantly matured. He went straight from playing destructive games with Metro Man to plotting a real murder.

See, you have to look at it from a different angle. ;) At this point the only one who hasn't changed much from the movie is Minion. And maybe Warden.

Next chapter: The trio hijack a Navy submarine and head into deep waters, then begin to plot more.


	9. The Briny Deep

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

* * *

_**Bad To Be Good**_

_9. The Briny Deep_

* * *

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Roxanne muttered as she headed for a popular bar that men who just returned from the ocean tended to frequent. "This more than a felony. This is like a triple-felony." She groaned. "Please don't be angry with me, Dad. I swear I'll fix it." In other words, she'd get that submarine back in the port where it belonged the _instant_ they no longer needed it. Her conscience was eating at her already.

_Stealing from the military._ How far she'd fallen. . . Or, more accurately, how far she was willing to go for freedom.

It had taken almost twenty-four hours to drive to the coast of Virginia here and come up with a foolproof plan. She actually had more faith in this plan than any other Megamind had ever concocted – and that was entirely because she'd been there to point out logic problems. She'd never deny that when it came to electronics and mechanics, he was flawless, but he didn't have such a great grasp of human involvement. That's where her expertise came in.

Provided the plan worked and she _didn't_ end up arrested with seven life sentences to serve, they would be underwater in a few hours, tops. Not that any of them knew how to drive a sub, of course. _"Relax,"_ he'd said. _"All I need is a manual."_ Because apparently he could read through a five-hundred-page book in under a minute.

God, even her mind sounded sarcastic now.

Minion had had the good sense to make sure to get her properly dressed for what she had to do, though she had no idea how he'd acquired the clothes and decided she didn't want to know. She needed to appear like a hard-up bad girl, so she was wearing lo-rise black shorts that hugged her backside tightly, an off-shoulder matching black tank top, a leather jacket with a number of zippers and buckles, and stout, shiny black heeled boots with buckles on the sides. She twisted her mouth at the whole appearance of it, deciding that nail polish and nylons would have really perfected the image — and wishing she had makeup to add to the effect. But it would work; along with her actress skills, she would have two willing victims in no time.

And the look on Megamind's face when he saw her all ready to play her part had been _priceless_. He'd looked halfway between shock and lust, with a dash of disbelief. She'd rolled her eyes at Minion; Minion had echoed the move.

"Who knew Norfolk was actually a port?" she asked no one as she straightened her top. "I thought they made it up for that Down Periscope movie." Minion had looked it up; no, Norfolk was actually a bay in Virginia, supposedly the largest naval port in the world. She felt a bit of pride for her country that it belonged to America.

The plan was supposed to go like this: she would go into this bar and find a couple suitable sailors (and by _suitable_, she meant average guys, one with green eyes and one with brown — because apparently the holowatches couldn't mimic eye color), then lure them with her out through the back. Minion was waiting with the forget-me-stick for one man, Megamind with a can of knock-out spray for the other.

From there, the two men would scan the images of the unconscious men, take their wallets, stow the bodies somewhere hard to get out of, and the three of them would take off for the naval port at top speed. The invisible car was too conspicuous whilst visible, so they'd have to also hijack one of the men's vehicles for the trip. Megamind was planning something more, she knew, he just wasn't telling her what it was.

With IDs in hand, the two "sailors" would gain access to the grounds while she hot-tailed it to a rendezvous point in the invisible car. With luck and a flawless plan, she'd be able to park the car, hide it, and jump off the cliff to swim to the newly-emerged submarine when it arrived. At that part of the plan, Megamind had tried to convince her to take a running leap and let him dehydrate her, because at a certain angle he was certain he'd be able to catch the cube and get her inside without ever hitting the salt water, but she'd been against it.

She'd never been dehydrated before and she didn't want to ever experience it.

Now all she had to do was find the victims. She was already tense, never having done anything like this before. Dangled above alligators? No problem. Threatened to be ground up in a rock-crushing machine? Shrugged off. Suspended from the tail of a giant scorpion robot? Laughable. Drills aimed to pierce holes in her skull? Predictable. Going "home" to a man she was starting to hate? Difficult, but hardly harrowing.

Seducing two men to following her outside? Her heart started to jump with uncertainty. She took a few calming breaths, reminding herself that this was no more dangerous than any other plot of Megamind's. Her trouble came entirely from the fact that in all her other roles, she'd been stationary, never moving. Her part had been just to sit still, be clever, and wait out a resolution. But there'd also been a failsafe to every single previous plot; Megamind had admitted it during the construction of this plan. She tried to appear surprised when he did, knowing what the confession cost his pride.

With a confident first step, she plastered on a face that was both bored and searching out a possible form of entertainment. She pulled open the door and went inside.

And was immediately assaulted with the heavy scent of smoke, both from cigarettes and cheap cigars. Beneath it lingered the smell of a dozen types of alcohol, whiskey the most prominent — something she knew because Wayne liked it. Luckily the man was impossible to get drunk; his inner organs were more impervious to alcohol than a human's, so the worst she'd ever seen him was with a slight buzz.

Eyes turned to her when she walked in, heading to the bar and casting her gaze about. Some of the eyes turned away; the rest followed her, lustful and appreciative. A jingle of keys came from her with every step; it was necessary for her role to have the appearance of having driven herself here. She took a seat on one of the bar stools, one with peeling vinyl that scratched at the exposed parts of her thighs, crossing her legs as she ordered a White Russian. Once it was placed before her, she could sense an increase in pressure all around her, and knew a man or two was approaching. She reached into her jacket pocket for a wallet, frowned, searched the other, then the inner pocket, and finally let out an exasperated sigh, slapping her forehead.

"Ridiculous," she muttered. She eyed the drink as if she'd really wanted it, then pushed it away with a grimace.

"What's the matter, sugar?" someone said to her right.

Resting her elbow on the bar, she glanced at him sideways. He had blue eyes — an instant no, but she supposed she had to start somewhere. She explained, "I forgot my wallet. Came all the way down here, and forgot my wallet." She gave the drink another lingering look.

"Tell ya what, sugar," the man went on, taking the seat beside her, "how about I buy your drink for you?"

She eyed him. "In return for what?"

He shrugged. "The pleasure of your company?"

_Huh. Good line._ She'd bet it worked on most ladies. She forced her lips to smirk at him. "Deal." She offered her hand. "My name's Roxanne."

He shook it with a delighted look — no doubt remembering the song of the same name that featured the life of a prostitute. "Jace," he replied, then fished out his wallet and obligingly paid for her White Russian.

She took a long, slow drink from the glass once it was hers, giving her upper lip an exaggerated lick once she lowered it. "I _love_ the taste of cream," she murmured as if to herself. She didn't have to look to see that she'd gotten him excited with that one.

Jace started to chat with her, so she turned up the theatrics a tad as she replied back. When he reached out to put his hand on her knee, she put hers over his — partly to prevent the hand from wandering, partly to appear accepting of the touch. She'd endured worse, really.

Then someone else wandered up and clapped Jace on the shoulder. Green eyes, she noted. "Hey Jace," the guy started, eying her appreciatively, "what'd you find here?"

Jace gave her a grin. "A blackbird, I think."

She ticked her finger. "I'm more like a hawk," she corrected. "Or, if you're into older terms, a pistol."

The new guy guffawed. She hid a grimace; maybe she shouldn't pick him. Megamind would have a hard time copying that laugh. He said, "I like you, girl. What's your name?"

"Roxanne," she replied, now offering him her hand — though she had to sacrifice her hold on Jace's hand to do it. She shook the man's hand as he introduced himself as Brad. Not releasing her hand, he walked around to the other stool, turning her in her seat as he went. She was now facing the entire bar full of male patrons. And, she noted, they were all looking at her now.

Soon she was talking with both men, laughing at their absurdly bad jokes, finished her White Russian and was gifted with another, and then the entire room was full of motion as men tumbled over themselves for her attention. A fight broke out that she laughed in delight over, then someone turned on the jukebox and cheered her on to start singing. Knowing she sang well didn't help her nerves when the request was laid out, but she complied, moving to sit on the bar for a better vantage point.

Just for show, she took off her jacket — the room cheered — and laid it across her lap. She sang along with Shania Twain's _Man, I Feel Like A Woman_, then Pat Benatar's _Invincible_. It was lucky for her that they were picking songs she knew the words to.

Then someone pulled her out onto the floor to dance, and the cheering became deafening. She spun and danced, touching this shoulder or that chest, scouting out a good pair of green and brown eyes. She was passed around as if she were some kind of wanton hot potato. And a part of her was terrified that the situation was going to blow completely out of control, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that her two protectors wouldn't let anything happen. They were right outside — she need only yell out.

After a while, she stopped, panting and laughing, then pulled on a man she aptly titled _Victim One._ "You," she breathed. "Come with me," she winked.

The man had startling green eyes, and though it wasn't quite as astonishing as Megamind's, it would do. She gave her lips another exaggerated lick to entice him further, and a grin split his face. Jace was beside her in another instant, protesting.

"Hey, hey!" he whined. "I thought you wanted _my_ company," he complained as she tugged on her green-eyed victim.

Someone laughed. "I think the lady chose someone else, Jace!"

She grabbed Jace too, deciding that she'd rather he get knocked out outside than start a fight now and possibly ruin her chances of using this green-eyed man. "I can take two," she hinted.

Double-takes went around the room. Someone hollered, someone else whistled, and an uproar filled the bar. She slipped her jacket on, beckoned the men, and then was being pet by this guy and that guy. She turned as she surveyed the scene one last time, finally picking out a pair of light brown eyes. _That'll do._ With a wicked grin, she pulled him with her, too.

The three following her were laughing in anticipation, probably already close to soiling their drawers from the look of them. She pushed open the back door without looking, making sure to grab Jace by the hand and lead him with her. The two others followed quickly. She led them around the corner, past a few large obstacles where she knew her allies were lying in wait. Then she spun, pushed Jace into the wall and ran her hands up his chest.

This was _so_ disgusting, she thought, but her face was all wicked gleams and naughty hints. He didn't even seem to notice when movement appeared to his left, and she made a quick move to spin and jerk him against her to help prevent him from noticing. His hand went up her sides, beneath the jacket, and he leaned down quickly to kiss her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth.

Then he yelped and dropped, and she grimaced. "Ow," she said, rubbing at her lip. Damn rough ones.

Minion had knocked him out with the forget-me-stick, and both he and Megamind were giving him hard, cold glares (which Megamind punctuated with a kick to the fallen man).

Ignoring Jace, she pointed to the two others. "Green, brown," she said.

"You alright?" Megamind asked, coming up closer to her.

She shrugged. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"That's not what I asked."

"Look, it's broad daylight and we're on a schedule. Let's go!" she urged.

With a frustrated frown, he conceded, going to scan his green-eyed subject. Minion was already switching into his. The two dug out the wallets and keys of the men, putting them in respective pockets. Megamind's victim also had a gun on him, and Megamind made use of the shoulder holster. Then he spun on his heel, kicked the downed Jace once more, and dug out _his_ wallet too. He only took out the dollar bills, though, and tossed the wallet itself into a dumpster nearby with an evil smirk.

"By the way," Minion started, "we heard you singing. You have a great voice!"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe I'll sing for you two later then." She urged them on again, so they escorted her away, for the appearance of leaving with two of the three men she'd stepped out with. Megamind cleverly spotted one of their vehicles, and the two covered her while she disappeared into the invisible car. The two vehicles left in different directions.

She chewed her lip with uncertainty and worry as she drove for the cliff point she would be waiting at, finding that now that she was alone, she was terrified of being spotted. It'd be a while before the submarine pulled in, and that meant a while during which she had no shield beyond the car itself. Falling back on her newly-developed habit of searching out comfort when she was scared, she leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and let her mind calm down.

It didn't take long before the phantom hands returned to her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they did. She wasn't so surprised this time when the eyes also appeared, watching her with a level of adoration she hadn't known was possible. She wondered if Megamind could actually manage to mimic the look. . .

* * *

By the time the duo reached the checkpoint, they'd already hit a number of stores. Megamind had dehydrated a lot of items, but they two had also bought many more with the stolen money. It was so useful that the stolen debit cards had a "credit" option, meaning that neither alien had to flounder for the pin number.

Every last thing they'd bought had been dehydrated and put in a duffel bag they'd found in the trunk, filling it almost to the brim. The duo offered their IDs to the security guard, who cleared it and let them in.

A part of Megamind was getting giddy. How often had a plan of his actually worked out, no bugs and no failures? Never, really, but this one was going okay. The last thing he wanted to do was jinx it, especially with Roxanne on her way to the rendezvous point over a hundred miles from the port. But he was starting to believe it would work.

She'd done her part well — much better than he'd expected, actually. Comparing the man on the ID to himself, he noted how close their eye colors were. The woman was brilliant, simple as that. Minion had done the same thing with his own stolen ID card, giving it a lopsided grin.

It didn't stop him from hating how they'd had to go about this plan. Sending Roxanne in to lure a couple of lusting sailors out screamed _bad idea_ to him. He was halfway proven right when she'd had a third man with her, and couldn't help wanting to make the man pay when he'd kissed her. _The audacity!_ And then for her to take it! He told himself it was an act over and over, a way for her to keep the man distracted and vulnerable, but he still felt betrayed by the sight. Which was ridiculous really; what claim did _he_ have on her?

None. Despite their kiss the previous day, he entertained no illusions about the possibility of winning her. At least not until he managed to pay her restitution for her decade of pain. And since he didn't see that happening anytime soon, he had no hope.

. . .Well, that wasn't true. A glimmer of hope was shining in him all the time now, no matter how he tried to snuff it out. The most he could do was keep it from growing — he'd learned his lesson about hope and crushed dreams long ago, and wouldn't let it grow. The last thing he needed was more pain.

Once the two were in the base, they started searching. They needed a new identity for at least one of them — something like a captain or admiral. Someone who could clear out a submarine of all its personnel. Or maybe. . .

A new idea occurred to him. He had Minion park, then outlined the new brilliant adaptation of the plan. Minion nodded his approval and the two split, Megamind carrying the duffel bag since he fully intended to head straight for a suitable sub. In no time, he spotted a captain, then lured him off with an urgent request for help. Can of knock-out spray in hand, he felled the captain, then stole his visage. It was hard to move the man to a hidden part of the docks by himself, but he managed it.

Then, according to plan, alarms went off. Megamind glanced around with false concern, told Minion about the captain through the watch and in turn was informed which sub was under his command, and headed to the sub in question. Below, he called for a systems check. The second-in-command gave him the report, highlighting that all systems were go. They were ready to depart.

"Not just yet," Megamind replied. "I don't like the sound of that alarm. Let's wait for more information."

The man gave a nod, ordering a sailor to go topside and relay information. After a few minutes of the alarms going off, Megamind started ordering sailors to go above and help the search, giving the excuse that more manpower would help. Once the sub was mostly cleared, he left the sub itself, saying how he was going to find information directly from security.

In truth, he flooded the sub's ventilation with knock-out spray from the can. He had to empty it to manage this feat, knocking out all men within. Then he called Minion down with his watch, confirming that the ichthyoid had found a series of manuals for how to pilot a submarine and dehydrated them. In no time the fish reached the sub and the two entered it.

Minion took care of moving all the unconscious men to a room he could secure from the outside, locking them in, while Megamind read through the rehydrated books. Within minutes, he had all the basic facts on how to drive figured out, and relayed them to Minion. Then the alarms outside cut out, signaling that soon the rest of the crew would be returning.

"Time to go," Megamind ordered, taking up post at one of the huge steering wheels. Minion took up the other. He had to get up, dart to the active radar, and rush back every moment or two, but the two managed to go below and head out without trouble. Nobody contacted them about why they were leaving port, so he allowed himself a smirk. Now all they had to do was meet Roxanne at the coordinates and get her aboard.

There he goes again: getting giddy. But things were just working out so well! When he got up, Minion would manage to steer both wheels by employing his feet; the few men on board were safely secured in another room; they were on their way to getting Roxanne; he had more than enough tools and supplies to start building brainbots again, and even enough to manage basic chemical concoctions. They had time now!

Everything went flawlessly, much to his relief and pride. When they reached the point almost an hour later (this sub was _fast_), he waved her over. She took a running jump, fearlessly, into the ocean below, then swam up. He helped her in, wrapping her in a towel once they'd submerged again. Then all they had to do was reach another port and eject the rest of the "crew".

They'd already started making noise, banging on doors, demanding release. All three studiously ignored them until almost two hours later, when they found an acceptable port. Between the dehydration gun and forget-me-stick, all the men were soon out again. Megamind made sure to dehydrate them all, then Minion tossed them ashore and manned a hose to spray the cubes. The men popped out again, looking dazed, and the two villains waved mockingly as they left again. It wasn't until they were under that either alien chose to deactivate their watches.

They headed deep and far, and grew more relaxed with every nautical mile gained. It wasn't until they reached what Megamind considered a good distance — two hundred miles from shore, six hundred feet deep — that he started in on rehydrating everything in the duffel bag. He noted that Roxanne eyed him as he did so, knowing she wouldn't be happy about all he'd stolen. But there'd been no other option, unless he wanted to start taking apart the sub itself to have metals to work with.

Various vehicle parts, tools sets, over-the-counter bottles of pills and other medicines, and varying types of clothes were included. The vehicle parts made up the majority of the items, which he stowed in every possible corner.

". . .What do you need all that for?" Roxanne asked.

He could tell she was trying not to sound disapproving, but failing. He answered, "Brainbots. With these," he started, displaying a few choice items, "I should be able to make fully functional ones. They won't be as pretty," he half-joked, "since I couldn't get my hands on any glass for their domes, but they'll work."

"Can't you just summon the brainbots?" she prodded.

"I could — but Scott would probably be able to follow them. The spyider-bot should be able to gather them, though."

"Oh, is that what you sent it away for?" She looked thoughtful.

"Yeah. Look, Roxanne," he started, facing her. "I don't want to demand this of you, but it's very hard to pilot a sub with only two for a crew. . ."

She looked amused. "What was that?" she teased. "Did the great Megamind just admit to something he can't master?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't challenge me, my dear. If given the time and resources, I could have this entire place manned by brainbots or other kinds of A.I. Or even a very sophisticated computer," he hinted. "For now, help would be golden."

She considered it. "What can I do?"

He honestly didn't know. "For now, you could watch the radar. Minion?"

Minion glanced at him from his place at the map. "Sir?"

"Teach her what you know about piloting so far — just in case," he added. Then he lit his blowtorch, put on goggles, and set in for a lot of work.

Minion and Roxanne took seats at the wheels, with Minion outlining the various gauges and giving her direction. Right now the sub was stopped, which meant they didn't have to watch the gauges at all or attend to the steering. All three were actively busy now, and once Roxanne's lesson was over, she moved to the sonar/radar. Minion went back to the map, drawing lines with a washable marker. Megamind kept up the cutting of the metals before him, eventually getting the pieces he needed. Then he set in with a tool set to pull apart an engine he'd rehydrated.

After another few hours had gone by, Minion headed to the kitchen to start cooking, and Roxanne wandered over to where Megamind was working and watched him. It didn't take him long to notice her presence, and after a few moments, he sighed.

"That's very distracting," he admitted. He was uncomfortable being watched while he worked.

She looked chagrined. "Sorry. I guess I was just fascinated." She started away.

He perked up. "Really?" he checked.

She paused to quirk a brow at him. "You're surprised?"

"A little," he confessed. Looking back at his half-formed brainbot, he explained, "No one but Minion has ever paid close attention to me when I work. Others aren't especially impressed or fascinated or encouraging."

"Well, apparently the rest of the world is stupid," she told him. "I'll leave you to it." She moved away again, heading to where he knew the kitchen was located.

He looked in that direction for a few moments more, hearing their voices as the two chatted. When he looked back to the brainbot again, he was grinning.

Things fell into a comfortable routine after that. He had a lot of work to do, so he focused most of his time to doing it, pausing only to sleep and eat and sometimes talk with his two companions. On the first day, he got one brainbot operational, and one more about halfway done. The first brainbot was ugly compared to the others, not as carefully-formed, and highly inquisitive. It preferred being a pet of sorts to Roxanne than helping its master when he called for it.

But such was the trouble with the brainbots: they all reacted differently to the algorithms he programmed into them, essentially creating a unique personality for each of them.

On the second day, he got six more up and running, with the help of two far more loyal brainbots than the first. On the third day, another eleven were added, and then he was running too low on materials to risk making more, so he didn't. Eighteen were enough to be a reasonable crew, he supposed.

He'd also taken to wearing the stolen clothes. Almost all of it was in blacks and blues, some were the right size for Roxanne to wear as well, and all the shirts were button-up to accommodate his large cranium. It gave him happy thrills to see her wearing clothes he'd brought for _him_, and confirmed his belief that she looked better in his clothes than Scott's. And it gave him little visions of how she'd look in a modified version of his villain costume.

Oh, those visions were _sexy_.

During those three days, he tried not to think about everything that'd brought them here. Just remembering the time in the car when Roxanne had requested him to touch her made him flustered, so he put it aside. But once the brainbots were operational and he had nothing physical to take up his time, his mind wandered against his will. He caught himself watching the beautiful woman as she cooed over the brainbots, taking up a kind of mothering role that they responded to with affection and excitement.

He admitted to himself that she looked relaxed, happier than he'd seen her in a long time. That was an epiphany in itself; as he thought back and analyzed her more closely, he realized that he'd always seen the way she pretended nonchalance. He recognized her act. How he'd never been aware of it before, he didn't know, but he suspected he'd been scared of learning the truth, so he hadn't let himself really notice. Now he felt like a real villain for letting her suffer in silence for so long.

It relieved him that the shadows were leaving her now, though. Her smiles were more genuine, her eyes sparking with humor in a familiar way that he recalled from the first few times he'd kidnapped her. All this time with that spark missing and he hadn't known how much he missed it until it reappeared.

Minion was more chipper than ever, and if the fish could manage whistling underwater, Megamind suspected he would be. The two aliens spoke often about just how to get rid of Metro Man once and for all, and their latest discussion was overheard and interrupted by Roxanne.

"That acid worked," she suggested.

The two looked at her in confusion. Neither of them had any memories of the acid doing more than making the hero's eye twitch.

"No it didn't," Minion denied, though his tone was curious.

She rolled her eyes. "On the outside, no, it didn't. But Wayne told me he inhaled it and it was doing a number on his inner organs. He recovered, obviously, but it'd been hurting him." She gave them both a knowing look.

Megamind and Minion glanced at one another. A moment of unspoken words went between them, and then Megamind nodded. "That's the only lead we have. So, Roxanne," he added, now that she was in the conversation, "have you come up with any ways to get him to stop wanting you?"

That was her main concern — making the other man _stop_. She'd finally admitted that she wasn't for the idea of killing him, much as she may desire no longer being tied to him or offered input on how to manage it. So she'd been wracking her brain with the goal of getting him to let go of her just as Megamind had been wracking his own for a way to finally off the being.

He'd made progress in separating them by getting her this far, which, unfortunately, was temporary, so he'd had to adjust his plans. He figured three minds were better than two, so the trio had decided to brainstorm the two options separately.

"You don't have to sound mocking," she chided. She brushed her hair back, a habit he noticed she displayed when she felt helpless. "No, nothing yet. I figure, if I can just keep him calm, talk to him. . ."

"Has that ever worked before?" he pointed out.

"No," she sighed. "But things have changed since then."

"Yeah. He got _madder_," Minion intoned. Megamind shushed him.

"That's not what I meant," she snapped at the fish. "I've let go of my act. I think, like I said, if I can keep him calm, I could make my case. Make him listen. Make him _see_. And then maybe I could. . .fix him."

Megamind wasn't sure why, but he grew angry and jealous at her words. He felt far more possessive of her now than he'd ever been before, more so than his constant reminders that he was the source of her torment could combat. He had the urge to go over to her, hug her, and tell her in as many words that she wouldn't be putting herself in any such danger. He'd die with Scott if that's what it took to keep her from the "hero".

And hope against hope that Minion survived to watch over her in his stead.

He bit back smart remarks to say, "Don't bother with _fixing_ him. If I can get this right, he won't be alive long enough for you to try."

"I _have_ to try!" she insisted. "Look, I don't like him. And I certainly don't love him. But essentially. . .I made him into the monster he is now, so I'll be damned if I don't try to atone for it."

"See, now you're doing it again," he argued. "That thing you do about what's right and what's your responsibility. All that nonsense. No matter how you look at it, he's a criminal now — I would know," he hinted. "He's been abusing you, ignoring the law, causing massive public damage. . . By now there's no redeeming qualities in him anymore."

She shook her head. "A lot of people say the same thing about you," she reminded him with a nod at him. "There has to be something good still in him. I know I could reach it, show him —"

"The light?" Minion interrupted.

Megamind sighed; Roxanne looked a little depressed. "Look," he started, coming over to her, "I understand what you're doing. And why," he hinted, quoting her own words. By the look on her face, she recognized it. "But this is completely different from me and how I do things. I've never hurt anybody — it's very possible that he's gone far enough to have killed people by now. Are you really willing to stick your neck out to him now, when he just might snap it out of spite?"

She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. "You make a good argument," she allowed. "But I can't just do nothing. Yes, his potential for evil right now is. . .high," she admitted with difficulty. "But if I can get him to turn around, his potential for good is so much higher. I did it once — I can do it again." She met his eyes again with a steely gaze.

He took a deep breath, let it out. "Did you ever think maybe it was your effort in turning him good that started the whole obsession thing?" She looked startled at his words, so he supposed not. "What do you think would happen if you did it again?"

He didn't want to consider it — and apparently neither did she. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes, sighed. At length, she said, "Fine. I'll make a deal with you then." She looked up. "If I can get him calm enough to listen, you give me a chance. If it looks like he's losing it again, you can step in and. . .kill him."

_A chance_ was all Scott needed to do any number of things: catch her, kill her, fly away with her before Megamind could react. He thought it through before saying, "I can't promise I won't step in before then. But I'll gauge the situation first. That's the best I can allow."

After a moment, she nodded. "Deal."

"Deal," he agreed.

The following evening they had a conversation that was easily the most brilliant he'd ever had. It started with the idle chatter of how they were doing in the food section of the sub, then slid over to a mock conversation about weird ways to die. He'd heard of some fantastic tales (in the bizarre sense of the word, not the awe-inspiring sense) of how some prisoners had died. Then Roxanne laughed that maybe if Wayne smoked, he'd get cancer.

It was as if a light bulb went on in Megamind's head. "That's it!" he crowed, leaping to his feet and grabbing Minion. "That's how we're going to do it!" He rambled off a list of components to the specific acid he'd created just for Scott, then outlined the steps necessary to make it react to saliva, and finally how to get it to a vapor state. "And once it's like that, if I can make it react right. . . There's any number of ways I could get him to inhale it!" He was excited now, second-gen brainbots circling him curiously as he worked himself up. "I could get him to think it was a harmless gas, or put it in a cigar and you could get him to smoke it!" he added, pointing at Roxanne. "There's so many options. . ." He almost felt his brain expanding as he considered them all.

Roxanne's face fell, but she said, "Okay. I'll do what I have to."

He deflated a bit. If she felt so bad about the plan, maybe he could make it less. . .lethal? But that was a stupid idea, he reminded himself. He'd spent a decade making things _more_ lethal because nothing else could cut it when it came to Scott. Making things lethal didn't guarantee a victory. At best it could guarantee a brief reprieve as the hero had to recover.

There was nothing saying this plan would work. So far the acid had only managed to harm Scott a little, so he couldn't say the acid would actually kill him. He sighed. "And I'll do what I have to," he agreed.

Minion eyed the two of them warily, then stepped away, seeming to predict something big was about to occur. Megamind wished he had that sense as well; it'd help a lot.

Minion's departure seemed to make it okay for the floodgates to open. Roxanne blurted out, "I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. It has to end."

He looked at her. She was sitting at her post of sorts, at the radar, frowning down at her knees as she sat sideways on the seat. After a moment's thought, he came closer, leaning over the console. "Is this so hard on you? Being underwater, I mean."

"_Everything_ is hard on me, these days," she quipped. "I almost wish things were back to — normal. I've never felt so burdened before."

Normal? He choked out, "You mean back when you-you were stuck with _him?_" he checked. "You want that back?" He was incredulous; he couldn't believe it.

She shook her head but agreed, "Yes. At least back then I knew what to expect — from everything. And it was sane, compared to. . .now. I had no idea I was capable of breaking so many laws until now." Her eyes grew pained. "It feels so selfish, to do all this for my own survival."

"It's not selfish," he denied, though he couldn't quite believe his own words. "You have every right to fight for yourself. And you're not the only one — Minion and I are fighting for you too."

She looked up at him at last. "I know. And you two are. . .incredible for bothering. But I just don't see. . ." She paused, her eyes growing far away. When she spoke again, it was much more quietly. "I don't see how I'm going to go through with this." _Alive._

The unspoken word was audible, and Megamind felt a mix of emotion that couldn't be good. He was more enraged than ever at Scott, for causing her such despair, angry at himself for not having done something sooner to save her, and irritated with her that she allowed her outlook to get so bleak.

He moved around the console to reach her, pulling on her until she was standing. She looked confused amidst her inner anguish, which he took as a good sign. "You're going to survive this, I promise. I'll get him away from you one way or another. Whatever it takes. You're worth everything I do for you, Roxanne. Even if it means dying, I'll get rid of him."

She squeezed her eyes shut, pained. "Don't start with that," she begged. "No confessions, none of the. . . Just don't."

He clenched his jaw. "It's better that you know —"

"No, it isn't. I don't want to hear it."

"Because you fear it." It wasn't a question.

"Is that so surprising?"

She turned his words aside, he noted. She did that when she didn't want to answer. So he replied, "I would do anything for you. You know that. Admit it, Roxanne — you've always known that." He was scared, too; scared of what he was saying. But it felt right somehow, as if this would help them both. He steadied his will to go on, trying to ignore how his nerves kicked up his heart rate. "I would never hurt you. Because I. . .I love you. I always have."

She flinched — not the reaction he was hoping for. But she didn't pull away; instead, she moved closer, leaning into him. He took it as a good sign, wrapping his arms around her in a secure hold.

"Yes," she murmured against his shoulder, "I have always known that. God, you. . . How did things turn out this way?" She shook her head, and he sensed she wasn't done speaking yet, so he kept quiet. "Of all the things. . .why are you my comfort?" He was startled at that, but she went on before he could analyze it. "Why do I feel so safe with you?"

Distracted by the new information being given to him, he stroked her hair absently, absorbing what he could. She felt _safe_ with him. He comforted her. He didn't know how, but he'd completely changed sides from villain to hero for her. And how ironic it felt, knowing he was who she needed while Scott — her ex-fiancé — was something she was trying to be rid of.

A part of him dreaded the idea that she would start crying again, like had happened the last time he'd held her like this, so he was relieved that she didn't. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she linked her arms around him, rubbing her face against his neck. The motion brought forth goosebumps.

"It's crazy, really," she sighed some time later. "I like everything about you."

Heat and pride flooded him. He felt himself blush even as he quipped back, "Except my choice in careers."

She gave a laugh. He considered it a job well done.

* * *

Note: I was honestly expecting this. After a super long time of planning and working things out, I just knew that once I got going, the chapter would be done in a single sitting. Sorry it took so long, but it was a very difficult plan to work out — and in the end, it wasn't even all mine! I got a suggestion from a fan on deviantART of how to go about this part of the story, and it was such a brilliant plan than I yanked it and adapted it to the situation.

So a huge shout out to Phantom-77 for the brilliant idea. And it's at this point I make an announcement.

For those who haven't seen it already, I drew something on deviantART to be a sort of preview for chapter one. ;) I'm planning on continuing this series, one for each chapter, until the end of the fic. It's up on deviantART — go to my profile, click on the "deviantART page" link, and it'll be the first pic you see on my home page.

Next chapter: The confrontation of the century.


	10. Resolution

**Disclaimer:** "Megamind" is owned by _Dreamworks._ I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

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_**Bad To Be Good**_

_10. Resolution_

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Overall, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on anymore. Somewhere between when he'd confessed and now, Megamind had lost his grasp of the situation. And the more he tried to make sense of it, the more it maddened him. In short, he didn't understand her.

They'd stood still for a long time (a little over twelve minutes; he was counting) before one or the other of them managed to get the suggestion across to sit instead of stand, but it was impossible to know whose idea it was. It baffled him that he couldn't figure it out. All he knew now was that _someone_ made the intent clear and _someone _agreed. Maybe it was a joint effort; he didn't know for certain.

Now he was sitting against the metal wall between the command room and the kitchen, with Roxanne curled up against him, shielded on all sides by his arms and legs. Until now he hadn't known that she could make herself so small if she balled up like that. A small part of him was fascinated with the change. The rest of him, however, was stuck in a loop about how nice it felt to hold her just like this, replaying her words about comfort and feeling safe with him, and idly wondering if Minion had known _this_ would happen too.

It was in his nature to keep his hands active doing something, and between that impulse and his unyielding desire to feel her, his hands roved over her. Despite how much she seemed to like it, though, he couldn't quite believe she was letting him. More than that, she would sometimes make little agreeable noises. So far, he'd learned that she enjoyed it when he ran his fingers through her hair — ear to the back of her head, specifically — or traced her jawline with a finger or stroked her neck. In fact she tended to angle her head in a silent request when her neck was involved.

Most of his confusion came from the alien feel of the situation, as he had literally no real experience with comfort (either in giving or receiving), and from the way her reactions seemed so at odds from the Roxanne he knew. He supposed this was only to be expected, though; she _had_ gone through hell all alone and silent. He wasn't stupid enough to say he knew how she _should_ be reacting, so he kept his mouth shut about it. But the fact remains that he'd never viewed her as someone who needed anyone's help for anything. Admitting that her situation was very extreme only soothed his confusion a small amount.

A little notion kept rising to the surface that he feared so much he beat it back down before he knew what it was. He didn't fear the notion itself so much as the fact that he knew the implications would probably ruin him. Thus it began a circular logic of knowing he was scared of that little thought, but being unable to let himself think it, he didn't know what it was. That, too, was beyond frustrating. He managed to ignore it completely by focusing on Roxanne and nothing more, though, so he kept his mind on her.

An easy — and highly enjoyable — task if there ever was one.

_I love you, Roxanne. I always have._

He blushed every time he remembered saying those words. He didn't know what had driven him to say them, but he couldn't make himself regret them either. She seemed to accept them without complaint, so he supposed she didn't mind, at least. That comforted him a bit — the fact that she didn't run screaming from him like he'd been half-expecting her to do. Given his life experiences, he wouldn't have been surprised.

Hurt, yes, but not surprised. Which was possibly why he felt so shocked that she was willing to still be around him. _You're the source of her torment._ And, it seemed, the source of her recovery. How he could be both confounded him further. It was contradictory of everything he'd come to comprehend about human reactions. He couldn't even begin to _pretend_ to understand this.

The problem now was that he was uncomfortable in his position. Having a huge head had its detrimental aspects, too. One being that he couldn't lean his back against something without turning his head left or right, or dropping his chin until it pinched his neck. The best he could do was hunch with the small of his back against the wall. Now he was stuck with either being uncomfortable to comfort her, or moving and possibly ruining whatever recovery she was going through right then.

The sacrifice to his neck was worth it, he supposed.

Almost as if she'd heard his thoughts (a disconcerting notion), she shifted, lifting her chin. He felt her lips brush his neck and heat flooded his cheeks. His jaw clenched as he struggled not to react. But then she straightened a bit more and her mouth slid up higher, to his jawline, down to his chin. . .

"Roxanne," he bit out, unsure whether he wanted her to stop or continue. He alternatively loved and hated it when she gave him affection like this; while it thrilled him to feel her touch him or see her smile at him, he also felt unworthy and shy about it.

Sitting up now, she leaned back to meet his gaze. His hands slid to her waist. _Shoot._ Now he had her attention and didn't have the foggiest idea what to do with it. Hoping the blush had subsided enough to be unnoticed in the dim incandescent false light of the sub, he offered a shaky kind of smile.

Her lovely blue eyes softened as she returned it. Then her eyes began sliding down and off to the side, and he realized she wasn't looking at anything in particular — she was in her own head right then. Unwilling to disturb her, he shifted to ease the burden to his neck a bit. When he turned his head, his neck popped in three places. _Ow._

Then she spoke up. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"

That phrase sounded so familiar that it brought up memories of their time in the invisible car. Heat rose up to his face. "Yes. . ?" he agreed, though his uncertainty made the approval into a question. It didn't matter, really; he'd do whatever she wanted. Even if the request was for him to jump out of the sub and swim to shore.

Right when she opened her mouth, the sub was rocked. They both floundered and toppled over — somehow he managed to get his arms around her to lessen whatever impact she would get — and a number of mechanical objects fell from his various work stations, making a huge clamor as they hit the ground. Somewhere down the way, he heard Minion's cry of alarm. As they leveled out again, Minion's _clang-clang-clang_ footfalls neared them, brainbots circled around the pair, and Megamind pushed to his feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked Roxanne, who looked dazed.

She nodded. "What was that?" she demanded. She accepted his offered hand to help her stand, and then all three of them were looking at the sonar.

"I don't see anything!" Minion blurted with frustration.

"Bring the periscope up," Megamind ordered, rushing to the aforementioned tool.

"Are you nuts?" Roxanne asked, though Minion obeyed and flipped the required switch. She followed Megamind. "We're five hundred feet below surface. If there's even any light out there, it's still too thick —"

"It's better than seeing _nothing_," he shot back as he looked through the eyeholes. He moved around, aiming the periscope, trying to spot _anything_. And with each second that passed, lacking any kind of visual answer for how they were just rocked, his worry grew. _Don't let it be him, don't let it be him — we're nowhere near ready to deal with him!_

She sounded harried as she went on, "Maybe it was a whale. You think?"

Minion answered before Megamind could. "A whale wouldn't have hit us unless it was trying to start a fight. And it would've shown up on the sonar when we looked. Sir," he said directly to his boss, "I don't like the look of this. It can't be a whale, it can't be an earthquake because we're not bottomed. . ."

"Turn on the active sonar," Megamind bit out. He backed up from the periscope, admitting that he could see nothing — which was a very bad thing.

Minion hurried to do just that, reporting that nothing was showing even after several seconds had passed. All three occupants looked between one another, worrying, coming to the same conclusions.

"He couldn't be underwater," Roxanne murmured, as if trying to convince herself.

Fear for what would happen to her slammed into Megamind, making him cross over to her and hug her tightly. The move seemed to worry the brainbots, causing a few of them to come over and grab onto Roxanne as well — pointedly the first one of the batch, which was still the most attached to her.

Though it was hard to say, Megamind managed to force the words out: "I don't have an escape plan for this. It was supposed to _full_proof."

"Foolproof," Minion corrected automatically, sounding distraught.

After a moment, Roxanne took a deep breath, let it out, and replied, "Well, I do."

Megamind felt himself freeze on the inside. She couldn't mean — could she? _She had an escape plan._ For who? Herself? He was more anxious now than ever before, because he knew her history enough to know that she didn't ever worry about herself. She worried over others. She was selfless, and now he knew she even extended that part of herself to him, and probably Minion as well. What would she do to save them this time? What else _could_ she do?

The memory of her, falling into Wayne's arms and accepting his kiss to protect Megamind from retribution, came back to him now. He burned with a need to tear Scott apart as it reemerged, wanting nothing more than to have that acid on hand to dissolve the hero from the inside out.

"No," he said now. "Whatever you're planning, the answer is _no_." He drew back to meet her gaze. "I won't have you sacrificing yourself for me anymore. It's not worth it."

She smiled. "I don't know who beat it into you that you're not worth it, or how, but they lied. Look, we're part of a team now. You do what you have to do, remember? And I'll do what I have to do."

"Not this," he stressed.

"_Especially_ this. I can buy you time."

The sub rocked again, making them stumble, before he could reply. This time, Megamind managed to keep his grip on her and remain standing, though it used every shred of his balance to achieve. Minion slid out of the seat at the sonar and hit the ground with an audible _clang_, and a few of the brainbots ran into the walls, but otherwise the damage was less than before.

Now he was worried for an entirely different reason. "Brainbots!" he snapped, getting their attention. "Group A, head to the torpedo room, group B, to the engine room. If you find any leaks, patch them!" The bots split into their specific cells and hurried down the corridors.

Not a second had passed before another shudder hit them, this time from below. He couldn't stop himself from hitting his knees, and Roxanne all but collapsed with a yelp. The waves didn't stop, the rocking forcing them to slide from one side to the other, even as a sudden increase in gravity suggested they were rising. He shot glances at the depth gauge, watching as it rose higher and higher to sea level. With each line it passed, his hope fled. The brainbots returned during the rise, each one as dry as when they left, so he at least had the comfort of knowing they weren't going to sink after this.

When another rock slid him into captain's seat, he grabbed the railing with one hand, clinging to Roxanne with the other. She saw what he was doing and reached up to grasp the rail too, which successfully stopped their involuntary sliding. A glance at Minion showed his warden was standing again, gripping above and below him with hands and feet. Well, they'd managed to find stability, at least.

No one had to look to know when they broke the surface, because the rise slowed, making the two lighter occupants float for half a second before they descended again. There was an echoing sound of metal tearing in the next instant, coming from where Megamind knew the exit hatch was.

Roxanne backed off from him with a warning, "Trust me."

"What?" he snapped, following after her. "No — whatever you're planning, it's not —" He was cut off when a blur hit him, throwing him back and knocking the breath right out of him. He hit the metal floor and slid, and found to his surprise that he'd been thrown directly into Minion's path. The ichthyoid hauled him back to his feet as he coughed, his ribs exploding with pain.

There stood Metro Man, halfway in front of Roxanne. He was sopping wet, dripping, shaking, and his pupils were glowing. And Roxanne, ever the savior, was trying to get his attention, to forestall the explosion they could all see coming.

When calling out "Wayne" and tugging at his tassels didn't work — Scott started forward; Minion began half-dragging Megamind back — she darted in front of the intimidating alien, both hands out. "Wayne Eugene Scott!" she demanded.

A part of Megamind did a double-take at that. His middle name was _Eugene?_ Megamind's inner evil laugh had never sounded so childish before.

And it grabbed Scott's attention. The glowing in his pupils faded completely as he looked down at the woman before him. With a quick move, he pulled her to him by the wrists, saying, "Roxie, are you hurt?" How the man could go from total angry obliteration to heartfelt concern so quickly was a mystery, but, Megamind had to admit, she had the same effect on both of them. Like some kind of all-powerful goddess, she could make either of them bi-polar in an instant.

At the grab, she hissed in a breath, wincing. Megamind saw red; Scott released her. "Until now, I was just fine," she replied, rubbing her wrists. "Self-control, Wayne."

Now the hero looked frustrated. As Megamind struggled to get free of Minion's grip and deck the idiot, Scott was speaking to her, as if it were just the two of them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. . . But it was so hard to find you!" he said, throwing up his arms (Roxanne made a reflexive half-duck as if expecting it to be aimed at her). "And you've been gone so long. . ." He looked up and met Megamind's gaze, his expression hardening. "I told you never to kidnap her again." He took a step forward, but Roxanne stopped him.

She took up a stance in front of the hero as if she were a hero herself: strong, unflinching, merciless. Megamind saw the change in her and realized she was pulling on some inner reserve of power, making a stand.

She replied, "He didn't. I chose to go with him."

Scott's expression changed to confusion as he looked back at his beau. "Chose?" he echoed. "Let me get this straight — you _decided_ to go with him? Why?"

She shrugged. "Vacation."

"At the bottom of the ocean?" he asked, incredulous. "Why _here?_ With him, no less?" He gestured the blue alien.

"It was a vacation from _you_, Wayne," she explained.

Silence fell as if someone had flipped a light switch. Scott looked at her, torn between hurt and betrayal and bewilderment. At length, his expression changed to indignation. Megamind made an almost-successful leap out of Minion's grip to grab Roxanne and — he didn't know what. Hide her somewhere, he supposed.

"From me?" the hero bit out. "What are you talking about? You _love_ me." That last wasn't spoken as an honest truth, or with confidence, but rather with a desperate bravado. Like he didn't quite believe it, but wanted it to be true with everything in him.

A part of Megamind could empathize with that. But the rest of him was focused on coming up with a way to kill Metro Ham with the tools available to him. Maybe if he made the engines overheat, loaded a few torpedoes into the engine room. . ? The resulting explosion wouldn't kill the other alien, of course, but it might provide a good enough chance to get a head start on escaping.

He couldn't see Roxanne's face from this angle, but her words were calm, controlled. "I _used_ to love you, Wayne," she corrected. "As a friend. Until you crushed that friendship completely."

"What are you saying?" Scott demanded, fear flickering across his hard-angled face. "That you. . .never wanted me?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying," she agreed. "I'm sorry, but I was never attracted to you romantically."

"Then why did you agree?" he snapped, thrusting his arm out and snapping a support pole in half in the process. "Why did you agree to go out with me?"

"Calm down," she urged with a matching gesture with her hands. "I refuse to argue with you about this."

He took a step closer; Roxanne held her ground. Megamind had the sudden urge to pray — because right then, she resembled a gilded angel facing down a raging devil. If he blinked, he could swear he saw pristine white wings on her back. A stupid, juvenile kind of a hallucination, but her fearless posture and relentless rectitude in this act of protection had him envisioning nothing else. She was some sort of righteous goddess, he was sure of it.

"Then come with me," Scott pressed in a much more controlled tone of voice. "If you're not going to fight me —"

Roxanne interrupted with a sharp, "That's not what I said. Wayne, listen to me now. This. . .is. . .over." Every word was spoken with emphasis, the pauses between them allowing for each syllable to be absorbed.

The hero was stunned for a full seven seconds before he visibly hardened. "No — we're not 'over'," he denied with a shake of his head. "You're mine — you said _yes!_" He reached for her.

Now Roxanne lifted her hands, though she still stood her ground, and rushed out, "Don't touch me, Wayne, you'll hurt me."

Scott froze, then made little jerks as if he were going to grab her, stopped himself, and tried to withdraw. Abruptly, he turned around with a yell of frustration and hit one of the consoles to the left. It crackled and fizzled as his arm went into the metal almost to the elbow before he jerked his arm free again. He was breathing hard; it seemed no one else _was_ breathing.

Except for her: the angel in front of Megamind and Minion. Whether or not her heart was racing like Megamind's was, he couldn't say, but her breathing was still controlled. Around them, brainbots hummed — the extent of their "verbal" communication without the necessary parts to make them more talkative — unsure what they should be doing. They kept a careful distance from all sentients.

"Deep breaths, Wayne," Roxanne coached. In front of her, Scott straightened, and — amazingly — began controlling his ragged breaths. Megamind could only watch in fascination.

This great beast, clad in white but clearly darker than the villain had ever been, was bending to her will. The very same beast that'd turned her into a timid introvert except when she was in public, wearing false faces. She was displaying strength he hadn't seen in years. It was like the crescendo of all the confidence she'd been showing since the prison break had been reached. Once more, he saw the Roxanne Ritchi that had captivated him since high school almost fifteen years past.

After long moments, the hero turned back to her, his face a mix of torture and fear and pain. _Good._ Let him take in some of the torment he'd been dishing out.

Roxanne looked to the right, where the large steering wheels for the sub were. She said, "Sit down, Wayne. We have a lot to talk through."

He looked at the seat, shook his head. "No. No — we can't talk about this," he denied. "You're just going to tell me it's over again, and explain everything away with that. . .undeniable logic of yours."

"I have questions for you," she argued, still in that almost infuriatingly calm voice. She moved to one seat, gesturing the other. "Sit with me," she commanded.

Scott sent her an incredulous look, then sent a searing glare at the pair of aliens across from him. "With _him_ listening in, you want to talk?"

Megamind glared right back. "You heard the lady," he sneered.

"Megamind, don't provoke him," she warned. "Wayne, forget them right now. This is about you and me. We have to resolve this."

Although he could hardly believe he was doing it, Megamind half-pouted, obeying the woman. Who knew she could temper _both_ of the enraged males at the same time? Especially so while they were mad at each other for completely different reasons — albeit the source was the same?

"Resolve?" Scott echoed, sending her an almost desperate look of hope. "No. Everything is fine the way it is. You — we can go back, pick up where we left off. I can make this up to you."

"No more denials, Wayne," she replied. "You know we're over. We've _been_ over for years. You need to let go of me."

Now he came closer, standing near the seat but ignoring it. "Don't say that!" he demanded. "Without you — without you, I'd be nothing!"

"You don't need me," she told him.

"Yes I do! You made me what I am! If I lose you, I'll lose my purpose, I know it." At that, Megamind actually felt a microscopic amount of pity. He knew what it was like to believe his purpose hinged on another's involvement.

But this was wrong. Roxanne needed to part with the hero permanently; his involvement with her may be providing him purpose, but it was also slowly killing her. If Scott cared about her as much as he was professing, then he needed to let her go before he destroyed her. For her safety and her sanity, Scott had to let her go.

"Wayne, sit down," she said with more strength. She led him by performing the move first, sitting on one seat.

After a long moment, the man tussled his hair, as if expecting an answer to appear if he stalled the question. Then, seeing no other option, he sat down.

Roxanne leaned forward. "I need to know how this happened. What changed you, Wayne? When did you go from being an earnest hero to a controlling tyrant?"

"I was not —" Wayne started, then cut himself off. Megamind couldn't see very well from his place, but it appeared like Roxanne was giving the hero a hard look that brooked no argument.

She was going on. "Think about it. All I tried to do was steer you down the right path, nothing more. If I led you on at all, I apologize. That wasn't my intention. Like I said, I never viewed you with romantic interest. So what happened? At first you were. . .I guess happy to have me help you like I was. And then everything changed."

"That's a lot of questions," Scott muttered to himself. Roxanne made a sound like an annoyed sigh, clearly biting her tongue. Megamind was in much the same position. That wasn't _a lot_ of questions; Scott was just an imbecile with half a brain.

"Let's start with the first," Roxanne was saying. "Why did you choose me?"

"That's a stupid question," Wayne returned, meeting her gaze. "Who else would I have chosen? Out of everyone in that school. . .out of everyone I knew the city over. . .you were the only one who ever saw me." Megamind perked up at that, a part of him growing angry that the hero was using his line. "I mean, remember the school? Everyone there followed me with their eyes closed! I was the leader without ever trying to be. And everyone kept telling me what a _gift_ my powers were and how I had to use them to be a _hero_ and never misuse them for my own benefit. . .because that's what heroes did!" He gestured wide, looking exasperated.

"They all gave me a wide berth to do whatever I wanted. And I never had any idea what the difference between justice and bullying was. No one ever told me I did something wrong, so I just kept assuming I was right. They encouraged me to right the wrongs, but never told me what the difference was." At that, he gave Roxanne an imploring look.

He went on, "And then there was _you_. You, Roxanne," he pointed at her, "you saw me. You told me when I did something wrong and told me how to be a hero, how to be all about justice." _Not revenge._ "You had all the answers to my questions. All the reasons. All the guidelines to follow." He gave a laugh. "That's how it goes, right? The person who knows _how_ gets a job; the person who knows _why_ becomes the manager. That was us — all three of us," he added, with a look at Megamind. "Blue and me, we knew how to be the hero and the villain. _You_ knew why.

"And. . . There's no one else like you, Roxanne," he told her, almost pleading. "If I let you go, that's it. So what else was I supposed to do but cling to you? There's no one else in the city who sees _Wayne Eugene Scott._ Everyone else just sees Metro Man. I. . .guess I was a little on the crazy side, desperate not to lose you. . . But don't you see? Without you, I lose the only person who knows me — and the person with all the answers, on top of it!"

She listened without interrupting, and now she shook her head. "The tighter you hold onto something, the more you crush it, Wayne. That's what you've been doing to me — crushing me, breaking me. The more you cling, the more I crumble. I'm sorry things turned out this way, I really am. But there's. . .no way around it. For a decade you've been hurting me and pushing me down. Everything about us has been wrong from the very beginning." She sighed. "We're just. . .not compatible."

"What would I do without you?" Wayne demanded. He looked terrified by the idea. "I'll never be 'seen' again, not like how you see me. The rest of the world accepts what I do without a complaint."

"There's other people out there like me —" she started to argue.

He cut her off, "There's only two kinds of people in the world, Roxanne. The villains who want me dead and the civilians who stare in awe when I'm around. You're unique. I've been around the entire world and not a single person ever asked me why I'm a hero or offered any answers to _my_ questions about why I'm a hero."

"Try," she urged. "Give the world a chance. You'd be surprised."

He scoffed. "Yeah, what am I supposed to do? Walk around and hope some woman takes pity on me? Look at me!" He rose, gesturing himself. "Six foot eight, two hundred and forty-seven pounds of sheer muscle, with a slew of powers and no ability to plan ahead, and gray hairs!" He pointed at the lighter hairs for emphasis.

Roxanne flipped her hand in dismissal. "Oh, that. I told you not to worry about that. You're just maturing fast. My dad was the same way; had a full head of white hairs by thirty-five."

"It's ridiculous!" the hero insisted. "You don't look a day over seventeen, Roxanne."

"Neither do you," she pointed out, then sighed. "I think I made the wrong decision with you, Wayne."

Interest made him sit back down, waiting for the explanation that was bound to follow. Megamind managed to finally shove away from Minion, but he didn't try to interrupt. He was curious, too; where did Roxanne think she went wrong? As far as he was concerned, her only "mistake" was in dating Metro Idiot to begin with.

"What do you mean?" Wayne prompted.

She shook her head. "I did the same thing as everyone else. Only better, I suppose. I decided you had to be a hero. Regardless of whether or not I could 'answer your questions', I still made the decision _for_ you. For that, Wayne, I'm sorry. I did a stupid thing by _telling_ you what to be instead of asking what _you_ wanted to be. I pushed you into this role, just like everyone else. . . The difference is that I succeeded where they didn't."

"So you're saying it's _your_ fault I'm like this?" he checked.

". . .I guess if you looked at it a certain way, it's my fault we're _all_ like this," she clarified. "I made you a hero, you made him a villain," she glanced at Megamind, "and he made me a victim. Now we're all stuck in our roles with no clue how to be anything else." She looked so sad about it that Megamind barely contained an urge to snatch her up and hold her until she felt better or the universe ended — whichever came second.

For a long moment, Wayne stared down at his feet, brows drawn in thought. Roxanne was little better, watching her hands as she twisted them in her lap. Megamind was at a loss for what to do now. Everything around him felt different all at once, with what Roxanne had just said. The world felt bigger, less confined. Her words had given Scott pause, but it had also done the same for Megamind. He was thinking deeply about his past and all his decisions now, every choice he'd made or had been made for him, everything that had led to him being a villain.

And he realized that he'd chosen to be happy as a villain, when in truth, he'd never enjoyed terrorizing or rampaging or destroying. It was then that he decided Roxanne was the most powerful being on the planet, to be able to make him realize these things without ever speaking directly to him.

She went on, "I was young then, and apparently very stupid. I decided that _this_ was how the world worked, that you were fit to be a hero, that I was fit to be your guide, and molded us into it. I never paused to think that maybe, on your planet, you were no different from anyone else. I just. . .believed that you were more than human, so you _must_ be here to help us. Now I feel like a fool who's wasted the last decade of _all_ our lives chasing a truth that never existed."

Silence reigned for a long time then. On his surface thoughts, Megamind was arguing with her. No, she wasn't stupid; why didn't she mention molding him; but maybe Scott _was_ different on his planet, who knew; the man was stupid, clearly _less_ than human; nothing is ever wasted. He knew the truth of failures and successes better than anyone else: everything carries a lesson, and the longer the lesson continues, the more you learn. If she looked at their situation again, she'd undoubtedly see that they'd all grown a lot since she first opened her mouth.

Epiphanies were a grand thing. And Roxanne was an extraordinary woman.

For years Megamind had known he was in love with this incredible being, but now he felt it more clearly than ever before. Scott had come here with the obvious intent of killing Megamind and taking Roxanne back with him to Metrosity, and not only had she calmed him, but it seemed she'd _broken_ him. Scott was yet unmoving, contemplating his feet as he sat. If not for the expansion of his shoulders and chest with every breath, he might as well have died on the spot.

Finally, Scott spoke up, without moving or looking at anything in particular. "Everything about us was wrong, huh?" he echoed her words from before. He nodded. "You're right. Now that I look back on it. . .from your point of view. . ." He paused, gave a harsh laugh. "I guess I was a tyrant after all." Now he looked up, at Roxanne.

In that one look, Megamind knew his assumption was correct. Roxanne had truly broken the hero. He'd never seen Scott look so lost, so uncertain, ever before. And no amount of telling himself how much he hated Metro Ham could stem the beginnings of pity within the blue alien.

"I'm so sorry, Roxanne. For being stupid, for being controlling, for following everything you said down to the letter." Scott shook his head and sighed. "How ironic. I was the pillar for the entire city, and yet you were _my_ pillar. Of course it was bound to crush you." He rose. "I'll head back, get things arranged so you'll have a different place to stay. You still mean a lot to me, so don't be surprised if I still come around and do my damnedest to keep you safe, all right?"

Roxanne rose, and though Megamind felt a sting of rage that Scott was still trying to keep her safe when that was officially Megamind's role now, he knew Roxanne would agree. Of course she would! In the end, she was too compassionate, even and especially towards her tormentors.

She replied, "All right. Just don't be surprised if I tell you off occasionally too, okay? That's how distance works, after all."

Scott's smile was strained and painful. He looked over at Megamind and added, "You too, Blue." Megamind jolted at the old name. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you. Especially after all this. . . You were trying to keep Roxie out of my hands, weren't you?"

"Not this _whole_ time," Megamind shrugged, trying to play it off because he was rowing into unfamiliar waters at this point. "But recently, yes."

Scott gave one loud, barking laugh. "Well, you did a damned good job of it this time! A submarine! I guess Roxie told you about my hydrophobia then, huh?" He shook his head but seemed amused. "It took me two tries just to dive under, and then when I finally found the sub, I had to bail out before I could lift it."

"I remember," Megamind commented dryly.

Roxanne said, "I'm impressed with you, Wayne. Facing your fear like that."

Scott glanced at her, then down at one hand, which he lifted and fisted and then released. "Yeah," he sighed. "Faced my fear to save you, only to find out you didn't need to be saved."

"Hate to break it to you, Wayne," she replied, "but I've never _needed_ to be saved by you."

For a long moment, Scott looked at her in silence. Then he stepped back. "You're right. Saved _from_ me, maybe, but never saved _by_ me." Now he looked at Megamind again and pointed at him. "I'm serious now. You want her kept safe from me, you keep her safe from _everything_. Got me?"

Somehow it felt as if Scott was willingly _giving_ Roxanne over to Megamind — but with the air of a father more than an ex. And now that Megamind had a sort of "green light" to continue his relationship with her (whatever it was), he wanted to prove himself capable of doing it right.

"Got you," he agreed. "And if you ever hurt her again, I will dissolve you from the inside out. Got me?"

Scott hesitated a moment, then smirked. "Got you, Blue."

"And stop calling me that," Megamind retorted.

"You have any other name?"

". . .No," Megamind admitted with difficulty.

"Then 'Blue' it is." Scott tossed one more glance around, even glancing at the brainbots, before heading to the exit shaft. He paused beneath it. "Did you guys really steal this submarine?" he checked.

"Yes," Megamind answered without shame.

Roxanne tossed him an annoyed look, proving that she still didn't agree with it.

Scott just shook his head. "I'll talk to my dad. See if I can get this smoothed over."

"Wait, what?" Roxanne said, taking a step closer to the hero. "You mean you'd get this theft from the US Navy. . .removed?"

"Smoothed over," he corrected. "My dad only has so much influence. . .but he _does_ know a lot of incredible lawyers. They could make the case that this was an act of desperation. . .from me. I can't imagine they'd let either of you off the hook, but considering the situation, they might go easy on you."

For a moment, nobody moved nor spoke. Scott took the chance to zip out of the hatch and was gone. Then Roxanne looked over at Megamind, and slowly, the two of them smiled. Minion gave an incredulous laugh, which set off all three of them.

In one look, Megamind could see that the crushing weight that had been suffocating Roxanne was gone. By turns, that meant his own burden was relieved. For the next hour or so, the three of them cheered and laughed and were absolutely ecstatic at the turn of events. When he'd kidnapped Roxanne this time, when he'd stolen the submarine and began brainstorming ways to get rid of Scott for eternity, he'd never expected that with one stubborn talk, Roxanne would have been able to make the beast see reason.

The talk itself had its own effects on Megamind. If the hero could turn into a villain for even one person, if the villain could be a hero to that same person. . . Fate wasn't what made them who they were. Chance was. Chance — and one lovely woman who, at one time, had thought she knew everything. Now that she had admitted her mistake, Megamind's memory kept replaying all of the significant incidents that had made him who he was.

He began seeing that every choice he'd made had at least one other option. One violent, one complacent. One destructive, one reparative. One harsh, one forgiving.

If he could go back and change his decisions. . . Well, he supposed he wouldn't. His lesson had been learned, and it had taken the greater portion of twenty years to reach it. Maybe it had its problems, its hiccups and its harsh realities, but he wouldn't go back and change it.

. . .Well, he might. If it meant saving Roxanne from all her pain. That was worth it, wasn't it? But, as he watched her, he realized how selfish he was. He couldn't give up the way she smiled at him now, with how free her blue eyes looked. As he hugged her and laughed with her and listened to her happy words about how _it was over_, he knew that even if he found a way to turn back time, he wouldn't do it.

Though it shamed him, he comforted himself with the knowledge that she'd be against it anyway. She would tell him some great logical piece about how living in the past was silly and how you should only look to the future. Because she was great with words, better than he could ever hope to be. And he loved her for everything she was, everything she's always been. Changing the past would mean changing _her_, and that was something he couldn't allow.

How ironic that he had an entire debate between the two of them in his own head, and it was _her_ logic that had won out in the end. She had quite the effect on him, it seemed.

Now all they had to do was get back to Metrosity and. . .get arrested again.

The ultimate conclusion was so predictable that he couldn't help but laugh even louder.

* * *

Note: *slinks back* . . .Hi. Been a while, huh? ^^; Sorry about that. It's just that I lose focus pretty easily every time I see something new and shiny. Don't mind me.

As for this resolution, don't get pissed, please. This was actually my intent from the very beginning. Wayne isn't a bad guy, he was just a very _scared_ guy. Insecure and worried and a little obsessive.

Haven't got much else to say that wouldn't sound like excuses, so. . . I guess I'll just add that my interests have gone from Megamind to the game Dragon Age 2. My next fics will probably be in that universe. Just a head's up.

Next chapter: Aftermath.


	11. -Notice-

Dear Readers,

I have two problems at present which are devastating my will to continue this fic. The first is the lack of motivation to do so; I have run out of inspiration, on top of which my interest in Megamind itself has dwindled down into something not really worth calling "interest" anymore.

As if this weren't bad enough, I have a new computer, and this new computer has Windows 8 installed. You might not see this as a problem, so let me explain.

It came standard with just about every Windows program available, HOWEVER, it did _not_ come with access to them. If I want to use MS Word, for instance, I need to buy it, which is priced ridiculously high at $109, which just feels like more Microsoft bullshit (Google: XboxOne). Buying it consists of buying the access code and nothing more, then using it. Basically I have to unlock any programs that I want to use.

I used to have a disc with Word 95 on it, and I would install this whenever I got a laptop/computer without it, but it has since vanished. The reason why this sets me back so hard is because every time I feel I want to write something, I'm held back because the previous program I used it for _isn't there_ so I can't even open it properly. If you've ever tried to open an MS Word file with WordPad, you know what I'm talking about.

I would write using Fanfic's handy dandy Document program, but I don't know when I'll next actually work on it or if I'll finish it in one go (highly unlikely) and those documents have an expiration date. In fact this seems like my best option.

Right now (for those of you who might care), my interest is actually in Norse Mythology. On Gaia Online, I've engaged in RPs with a few others, and I have three profiles controlling a total of nine characters. It's gotten a little out of control like that, but it's quite fun. (We were previously RPing on Facebook, where you can have literally hundreds of pages linked with a single profile, but one of us kept getting her pages and profiles deleted for no known reason, so we switched.)

I do plan on still completing this fic and my others, but given I don't have access to my previous files, I'm a bit depressed. (One of the files I'm talking about is my own original story, and it's now at eleven chapters and all on one file, so if I lose that file, it'll be particularly devastating.) I started the next chapter Bad To Be Good several times, deleted it, wrote it again. . . My muse is being elusive. I like my latest one, but as stated, I can't work on it now.

In short: Microsoft is a douchey company and you should protest this.

I'm currently seeing two options of how I might continue my fics, the first being to just use my boyfriend's computer, which has Win 7 and actually has access to MS Word, or to upload the documents as-is to Fanfic, copy the text, paste it to Wordpad and save it. Alas, Wordpad has no spellcheck, so I have to be careful and aware of any typos I might make. Still better than Notepad though.

If any of you are feeling particularly generous, it would also be helpful if you sent me a registration code for MS Office so I might actually use it without having to shell out a hundred bucks for it. (This is technically illegal though, so I would advise against it. . .especially in reviews.) Other than that, motivational speeches might be handy. . .

In the future, I plan to leave this notice up, and delete it when I have the next chapter ready, so I can upload the new chapter and you'll all get alerts but this note will no longer be there. Just be aware that the next time you get an alert for this fic, it _will_ be the next chapter! This I promise.

And believe me, I feel terrible for not updating, but. . .well, things keep happening in my life that distract me completely from writing. I haven't written a full chapter for anything since the last time I updated this fic, I believe. But I won't bore you with sad details of my pitiful life. Just be assured that I _do_ plan to finish this fic. . . . . . . .eventually. XD;


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